


War Bride

by Kit_SummerIsle



Series: War Brides [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Hand-feeding, Kidnapping, M/M, Violence, barbarian au, city-Autobots, culture clash, extremely dub-con, mashup of characters, mate-napping, non-war Cybertron, tribal Decepticons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron is warrior from a barbarian tribe who attacks Iacon's outpost. They kill the Iaconians, but Megatron finds Orion to his liking and kidnaps him to be his mate, a normal custom for the nomads. Orion definitely does not want or agree to it, but what can he do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scene

**Author's Note:**

> written for a kinkmeme prompt:  
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=15044501#t15044501
> 
> claiming/reposting from kinkmeme:  
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13772.html?thread=15186892#t15186892
> 
>  
> 
> _The idea is that there's a group of Cybertronians that rather than living in civilized cities or city-states live a much more barbaric sort of lifestyle. They hunt mecha-animals for their energon, build lightweight collapsable structures to shelter them from the acid rain, and they practice ritual kidnapping for their bondmates._

The crooked rows of metalmesh tents were fairly quiet in the early joors of the orn. The air was crisp and clear in the slanted rays of sunlight, the last, lingering traces of acidic mist dissipated in the rapidly warming air. The first flaps were raised on some of the shelters and helms poked out to the new light of the orn. Patrolling guards came back from their rounds, seeking out their own tents and the morning bites of fuel. The so far quiet piece of the desert plain started to fill up with mechs and younglings, each going about their duties… when a strong voice cut through the din.

“It is time! Pack and move!”

Organized chaos ensued after the growled order of Galvatron. The area was hunted bare, the energon wells drained and the warriors all itched to move, to migrate and wander as was the tribe’s tradition. The order came as no surprise, since the gatherings debated the possibility for decaorns now. The shelters were collapsed and packed up by the mates and younglings, all the preserved mechanimal carcasses and extracted energon stored safely in mere breems – the Decepticon tribe prided itself on being fast and efficient in their wanderings. 

Only those with no mates, the young warriors who owned their own shelters, but not yet kidnapped their brides were slower in getting ready. All the packing and getting ready to move was the work of the mates and family and the elder warriors gave only a few condescending smirks at the younger ones from where they stood ready to roll or fly out. Galvatron sneered at some of them, eager to be on his way and find another place to hunt and roam. 

“Faster!”

Megatron snarled silently at the order as he struggled with the shelter’s collapsible dome. The blasted thing was way too big for only himself and his few possessions, but his pride had not let him construct any smaller when he left his Sire’s tent. The tribe elders all nodded approvingly when they had seen it – the thing could easily house a number of future mates and offspring. But they were smirking slyly every time the young, but ambitious warrior struggled with it alone still when it was time for a move. All his friends in his age-group have already acquired their mates, but Megatron just couldn’t find the one he really wanted. There was none in the tribe he wished and it’s been ages since they last clashed with another tribe that would allow the time-honored tradition of kidnapping one’s future mate from them.

“Finally… move out! ”

He did growl then and Galvatron shot him a dark look in answer and silent threat – at which Megatron ducked his helm slightly. He was not yet able to contest the tribe chieftain, not while he had no mate and a few offsprings to show his dedication to the tribe. He might… might be able to win over the cunning old mech… but not yet. A few more vorns, a few more opportunities to distinguish himself and maybe find the mech who could be his mate… Megatron shook off the idle thoughts and started after the others, finding his place in the caravan that might appear to be haphazard to an outside observer, but was in fact strictly ordered by seniority, experience and fighting ability. 

“Hey, Megs! Would you trade that crystal you found during the last hunt?”

“For what?”

“My short sword?”

Megatron cast a scathing look at the mech who came up beside him and sneered. Breakdown was not his friend, but the elder warrior was all right. His red and incredibly vain mate that Megatron couldn’t stand the constant chattering of was behind him by quite a few steps.

“And what would I do with it? Use it as dental pick?”

“Why not?”

“No.”

“But Megs…! My mate wants a pink crystal and I have never seen one before!”

“I want your share from the next raid for it.”

Breakdown looked shocked. As an elder warrior with lots of clout and offspring, he had a fairly big share from any spoils the tribe got. Of course Megatron, as a capable and strong warrior had a sizeable one as well, but it never hurt to have more. In time he would get his mate too and wooing the kidnapped mechs were never easy and usually required a lot of pampering, presents and such. 

“B-but…”

“No buts. You want the crystal, you heard my price.”

“Well… a quarter of my share and the rifle you admired last time?”

“Half of it and that big cannon you never used.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Megatron…”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Deal…”

The exchange would be completed at their next stop, since Galvatron would strangle anymech who would unpack even so much as a small crystal while on the move, but verbal agreement was as good – if not better – as any written contract. Not that many in the tribe could actually write, maybe just Soundwave and a few of the elders tasked with keeping the tribe’s history, which consisted mainly of the places they have roamed over, the list of chieftains and the enemy tribes they clashed with. 

“We go North, over the Tagan Heights!”

That earned Galvatron a murmur from the warriors who saw many migrations. The Decepticon tribe mostly stayed South of the Manganese Mountains and rarely clashed the Seekers of the East – but they all had to agree that their usual, much-roamed plains offered a less than comfortable living lately. The North was more liberally dotted with the disdained cities and the nomadic tribes, though no respectable chieftain would admit it, but they were cautious about the armies that defended the walled and fortified places. 

It was, to put it plainly, risky. The North promised more game as the city-dwellers didn’t hunt, but it came with dangers too. The cities were afraid of the nomadic tribes and withdrew behind their walls if one came too close – but the easy pickings of the outposts and fields came with a price too. Sufficiently angered, their armies could crush a tribe or decimate its warriors, making them easy prey for the other roaming tribes. The Decepticons were a large, strong tribe, growing with Galvatron’s cunning and daring leadership and Soundwave’s more careful strategies and some were loath to risk the easy life.

“Enough of this! I say we go North, so we go North!”

Megatron rarely agreed with his chieftain’s ideas, but this time, he was among those who were silently following him. He would enjoy the different challenges of the North and the dangers might cull some of the weakening elder ones, making him advance in the ranks. One orn, he would lead the tribe, of that the silent, silver mech had no doubt. He just had to be patient and grab every opportunity as it presented itself.

-o-o-o-

Cyberton was not the most welcoming of planets. Its ecosystem was slowly dying, though not many mechs realized it, not even in the more advanced cities. Mostly, they just complained that existence was becoming harder and harder lately. The mechanimal hordes were dwindling from vorn to vorn, the energon wells dried up much faster than eons ago and the acid rains came faster, lasted longer and fell even at the higher latitudes these vorns. Way back in the time of the Primes, Iacon, according to history, never got an acid rain, only in a very bad season. Now, though… Rain shelters became commonplace near the tilled fields where the energon crystals grew, for the mechs who worked on the precious resource and they quickly grew to more permanent outposts with mechs from other trades too moving there.

Orion watched the workers’ rhythmic movements as they cleared the crystals from the crumbling outer layer caused the last rain. The growths were still small and the acid rain came too early for most crystals to recover and yield drinkable energon. Another field going to waste… probably. But it was not his call to make. The young mech sighed and turned back into the prefab building among the few that made up the outpost to his work. Nodding to the others, situated at various monitors, he too picked up his readings and forgot about the crystals nearby. 

It was his first rotation out here and the endless, sheer emptiness of the plains fascinated him. Orion grew up in the middle of the city Iacon, safely walled around to defend itself from the roaming nomads, though it has been ages that any of the nomad tribes came near the city or caused any problems. Thus, security became lack and the youth of the city began to scale the crumbling walls and visit the plains around – returning often like heroes who weathered danger, even if it was just a turbofox scaring them with its characteristic baying. But Orion never before left the city, only listened to stories from those braving the desert - and the wrath of their Creators.

It was of course forbidden to go outside, unless one was a field worker or member of the defense force. Or, he thought a scientist in training tasked with measurements that would help the Academists to find out the reason for the worsening conditions. He and a few others were to stay in this outpost for a few solar cycles and their only connection with the city were an occasional supply run, mechs who brought them fuel and parts but whom returned to their homes every orn. A patrol, too came by every now and then, but since nomech expected trouble, they meant more news from the city than protection. 

“Why are you watching them so often? They do the same every orn.”

Dion’s voice intruded Orion’s thoughts and he looked up, into his friend’s blue optics.

“It’s not them…” – he hesitated a bit, like feeling somewhat guilty for admitting it – “It is the desert.”

“Ohh…?”

“I find it… compelling. Like… like something draws my optics out there. It must be the strangeness of so much… nothing, I suppose. The emptiness.”

Dion glanced out of the open door and his gaze was somewhat skeptic.

“I can’t find anything fascinating out here. I can hardly wait to get back to the city.”

“We barely got here, Dion! Don’t tell me you are already bored?”

“I am definitely bored.”

Another voice cut into their conversation, the third mech sitting in front of his own monitors, his shining and varied colouring clashing greatly with the friends’ more muted reds and blues. 

“Of that, I had no doubt…”

Orion murmured, glancing at the young noblemech. Why Flashlight choose a rotation in the scientific outpost instead of something more suitably flashy, heroic or entertaining, neither of them had any idea. They only knew that he hardly ever did what he was supposed to do and let the others cover his work, while he regaled them with stories of his conquests, the latest fashion in the higher circles or greatly exaggerated stories of hunting turbofoxes.

“I have an idea! We should go out and see those low hills to the south.”

“Why? Your instruments show something we should check out?”

“Bahh… instruments… I mean to see if there are some mechanimals there. We could shoot some!”

“Why?” - Dion was bewildered – “Why should we shoot mechanimals? I never understood hunting. It is just a waste. Besides we have no weapons.”

“It is not, really. Mechanimals have energon in them, you know.”

The same disgusted expression appeared on Orion’s and Dion’s faceplates and they stared at the noblemech like he grew a second helm.

“That’s…. sooo disgusting…”

“Come on… don’t tell me you’ve never tried?”

“Tried… what? Eat something that was… alive!?! Of course not!”

“Flashlight… don’t tell me nobles actually… eat… that???”

Flashlight looked surprised and only a little contrite.

“Mechanimals have the same energon in them than crystals and wells! It was proven!”

“But… but… they are alive!”

“Not alive when they are shot. And some parts are tasty… even healthy!”

“I could never … eat… something that was alive.” – Orion’s faceplates scrunched up as he tried to process the idea – “I understand that it is energon too and if I was… I don’t know, starving or something, I’d even consider drinking it… but not eating and only if I absolutely must.”

“Nomads do it too, you know. They live off the land, on wells if there are any, but on mechanimals mainly.”

An older mech came in and brought his own instrument with him, informing the new youngsters of how life went on outside the city walls. Not that he had ever seen any nomads either, as the tribes avoided the cities like rust for generations, but he heard more tales than most. 

“Well, I suppose they would have to…” 

Orion admitted, though still queasy about the idea.

“They do. It’s not accidental that we call them barbarians.”

Torque glanced pointedly at the young noblemech and smiled a little at the embarrassed blush. Dion missed the glance, but picked up the new topic eagerly.

“They are primitives. I’m glad they don’t come these parts of Cybertron any more.”

“It is rather fortunate, I agree. When they came in the past, it always meant hardship and fighting for Iacon. They are formidable fighters.”

“Do you know what they look like?”

“Most of them are rather big. Strong and heavy, with dark, pointed armor. Lots of weapons, inbuilt and carried. They can handle them too, despite of what silly nobles say these orns.”

Torque glowered again at Flashlight, the chatty noble obviously not his favorite mech, but the slim mech smoothly ignored his dislike.

“The nomads have no idea about tactics and strategy! Our army can brush them away, like so much rust!”

“Is that what you say these orns? I really hope they don’t come near then.”

“Me too.” – Orion quietly agreed with Torque – “I read old histories and they don’t describe easy victories and heroic generals. Rather… rather long, hard battles or sieges with lots of deactivated mechs and damages.”

“I’m glad at least somemech learns from histories. Now… you all go back to your duties and stop fantasizing about battles with nomads that will probably never come this way.”


	2. The Bride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron is not all that big on consent... though he makes a pretense of it. Only kidnapping being the expected means in the tribe to get a mate and his firm belief that 'if it feels good, it's not rape' and save it all from being all-out non-con.

Megatron was angry. Growling, seething, lashing out angry and he didn’t bother to hide it either. Galvatron sent him to a raid of… fields! Worthless crystal fields! What was he, a weakling farmer or a great warrior of the Decepticon tribe? And what pickings should he expect on a farming outpost? True, the destroying of such an worthless, ugly thing was a good idea on general principles, but he would much preferred to go with the main force. The mines closer to the city would be much better defended, meaning more fighting and better shares. 

“Come on, you worthless excuses for a warrior!”

On top of the implied insult, he was saddled by the tribe’s most worthless mechs that still called themselves warriors. Megatron snorted. Even most of the warrior mates fought better than these sack of bolts… their only worth was the gestalt, but individually… they were a waste of energon. Though against the city-bots even these could be called sufficient. Pit, he alone would be enough to destroy this place!

He saw the tilled crystal fields with their neat, sparkling rows as they neared and snorted angrily. Licking energon droplets from worthless plants… typical for these cowardly city-dwellers. They couldn’t hunt, they couldn’t fight, so they stole energon from defenseless crystals… and marred the desert in the process.

One of the mechs working on the fields glanced up and saw them. He froze, then a terrified shouting ensued and they were running like the cowards that they were. Megatron opened fire with his new cannon and was satisfied with the destruction it wrought below. Its drain was considerable though, and the warrior soon landed, wading carelessly across the crumbling crystals to reach his goal, the pitiful little outpost, with its few buildings, where the workers run to. As if those scant little structures could defend them from him!

One hit from a mace and the side of one small building was laid open, raining bits and pieces of the wall on him, revealing the terrified, little city-mechs within They were trying to hide beneath the tables and desks the best they could but screamed in terror. Megatron was sneering at their cowardice and prepared to shoot the lot of them with his cannon when…

… the small prick of pain was nearly negligible, but since he wasn’t expecting it, Megatron looked down. His middle had a scorch-mark across it and energon was seeping out of the shallow wound. What the frag? He was sure none of these field-workers had a single weapon among them, much less dare to use it – the city dwellers never carried one unless they belonged to the fighting caste. A small, pretty, red-blue mech stood in front of the others, his servos shaking, but still holding a makeshift contraption towards him, the business end smoking. The little one actually had the gall to shoot him with… whatever it was?

Megatron laughed in his booming voice and swung his mace across the space between them. The mechs inside ducked and scattered with frightened yells, the one who shot him held his makeshift weapon up to deflect the blow. Furniture and equipment was sent flying across the space, burying the mech in the corner, felling another with energon flowing from under him, but the one who shot him was still standing, though he trembled too.

He was rather audacious for a city-dweller… and looking quite nice to boot. One clawed servo reached out, while the other made short work of the remains of the building and the small red and blue coloured mech was sent to the ground, blue optics slowly darkening as the backhanded blow knocked him out. The rest of them, he was not interested in. Pulling down the building that marred the pristine plains and setting the ruins on fire, he didn’t care if they were alive or deactivated among the ruins. 

Hefting the slim frame on one shoulder Megatron grunted satisfied. He did get something out of this raid at least. He had his prize… or rather… he had his mate. 

The small Decepticon group made short work of the few buildings, looting whatever caught their optics and burning down the rest. The ages old traditions that ruled Cybertron dictated that the plains belonged to the nomadic tribes and apparently these city-dwellers forgotten – or ignored – that. There was no cultivating fields where they roamed, no outposts or any fixed buildings - it was bad for hunting and it enraged the tribes. The endless rows of artificially cultivated crystals were unnatural to the desert. The Iaconians had it coming.

Their city would be safe this time – Galvatron knew that it took several tribes working in concert to even consider breaching a city’s walls, and he had no such intentions now. But neither would they allow these outposts to mar the endless fields of the plains. It was known that had such things been allowed to exist, they would eventually, in megavorns grow to new cities and take away even more land from the nomadic tribes. 

They would cleanse the land from the city-dwellers’ work now. And if in the process they found some treasure or pickings, all the better. Not mates, not in general, as the small, cowardly city-bots were not considered worthy of the tribe’s warriors, who usually took mates from their own group or occasionally from other tribes… but sometimes, rarely a particular mech from a city caught the optics of a nomadic warrior. 

Like the little, exotic, red-and-blue one slung over his shoulder, Megatron thought. He was a bit on the small size, but that didn’t matter much in a tribe which had mech from microbots till giants like Galvatron; his actions during the attack proved him to be ingenious enough to fashion a weapon out of worthless instruments so quickly and brave enough to actually try and use it against him. The city-dwellers rarely ever shown such bravery, even those who were trained as fighters. The larger nomads usually frightened them by their very presence, making them run and hide…

No, this one would prove to be a good first mate for Megatron. If nothing else, the city-dwellers carried sparklings easily and fast and could be trained to behave properly according to the nomadic ways. They might not had the desert instincts, but they learned fast. Even if it required a lot of wooing and presents before they shed their fear of their new mates…

-o-o-o-

Orion came online with a splitting helmache and several lesser, assorted aches all over his frame. He sort of remembered the shouting, the panic, the sounds of destruction and the realization that the feared nomads have actually made an appearance at their little farming outpost… and his own frantic work to convince his instrument to act as a weapon by directing its considerable charge. Then he remembered the huge, frightening-looking mech tearing down half the wall and roaring at them and somehow… somehow his trembling servos turned the makeshift weapon towards the huge barbarian and pressed the lever that released the charge. 

What he had expected, Orion wasn’t sure, but the huge, silver mech barely even noticed the wound he managed to give him – looking more enraged by the klik instead of being wounded or offline. One sweep of his weapon demolished half the lab, sending everything flying and the others screaming. Oh Primus… then he saw a monstrous, clawed servo swing his way and connect to his helm… then hazily of being picked up like he was a doll and… then nothing. Well, that would – sort of – explain the helmache. Orion lifted a servo with some effort and touched his helm where the pain originated.

“Owww…”

His digits came away sticky and Orion swallowed heavily, trying not to purge. He had never seen his own energon and had no wish to ever experience how it felt. 

“It’s just a shallow cut. It’ll heal quickly.”

The voice rumbling in the dark was deep, dark and held smoldering fire… and Orion scrambled away from it before he could think anything, only belatedly remembering to calibrate his optics to see more his surroundings.

“I won’t harm you…”

What he perceived first was the semi-darkness of a place that was definitely nothing Iaconian and a large, darker, mech-shaped blot with a pair of burning red optics that dominated the space. Then the details started to come across. The sparse, should he say nonexistent furnishings, in the center a weak and flickering light-source, the inner structure of the place that suggested a moveable object rather than a fixed building… and the dark, pointed shape that resolved itself into the silver giant of the mech taking out their outpost… and him as well. A short tremble run across his frame.

“You already have!”

Where he got the bravery – or was it stupidity? – to yell at the large nomad, Orion had no idea. A deep laugh answered him and the other mech moved a little closer.

“Feisty little thing, are you? Very well… I won’t harm you further. I brought you here for a reason and it is not to deactivate you.”

“What else then?”

He was wary, of course. The barbarians were… well, barbarians. They killed every mech they come across and destroyed everything. They couldn’t be negotiated with, intimidated or reasoned with. They proclaimed to own the desert and consider any buildings on it as sacrilege against nature. They were the ultimate fear of every city-dweller, chaos impersonated and violence embodied. Orion never heard or read about any mech who has seen a nomad warrior up close and survived to tell the tale. 

He saw the large frame shift closer in the semi-darkness and swallowed nervously. His back plates were already flush to the flimsy wall with no way to retreat any further and the approach of the other mech made him look even larger. He could barely see something that was the possible exit beyond the silvery frame, effectively boxing Orion in. Looming over him worryingly, he might say. What on Cybertron could he want with him?

“You’re my mate now.”

What???? Orion nearly choked on the next invent as his processor tried to make sense of the utterance, suddenly frozen to his place where he was sitting among mesh blankets on the ground. It was… impossible. Preposterous. Ridiculous. Frightening… his audials must have been malfunctioning. 

“No! What do you mean? You can’t be… serious! I don’t… don’t even know your designation! You _kidnapped_ me! You… you…”

His voice died sputtering in utter outrage, hardly able to think, much less speak. But the large mech didn’t appear to be fazed by his outburst. In fact… he was chuckling, like Orion sad something… _funny_? Orion first felt enraged by that chuckle, then fear…

“My designation is Megatron. And you will learn everything else that you need… soon.”

“No, I won’t! I refuse…!”

“There is nothing to refuse, little one. You are my mate, since I kidnapped you for exactly that reason.”

Orion felt his jaw hanging. The warrior… he meant… he _was_ serious. He was not even remotely interested in Orion’s opinion on the matter. He declared that they were mates with a surety that frankly scared the Iaconian. Slag it, the whole situation frightened him. Badly. When the other mech lifted a servo and the back of a single claw touched his jaw, Orion yelped and pushed the appendage away. Or rather, he tried to, since it felt as solid as Cybertron and definitely didn’t move away from his weak push. 

Orion tried to duck under the limb and hopefully scurry towards the doorway he could faintly perceive behind, but the warrior was not only stronger, bigger, but faster than him as well. The servo that tried to pet him came down on his plating and it tightened ever so slightly over his shoulder. Even that small measure of Megatron’s strength made his plating creak uncomfortably and Orion stopped his efforts to escape. He was well and truly caught and completely at the mercy of the nomad mech. 

“Don’t try to run away. I’ll be careful… _gentle_ with you. But I can’t let you out until you are properly claimed and trained in our ways.”

The word _gentle_ sounded as though he said it the first time in his existence and Orion believed that it was probably the case. There was nothing… gentle-looking about the huge, threatening-looking barbarian warrior. Even the careful part was stretching it. Then the rest of the utterance made its way to Orion’s processor and his panic if possible, just intensified. Claimed? Trained? 

“Am I to be… your slave then?”

Megatron managed to look surprised while loosing none of the intimidating-lustful feel of his field. His grasp lightened on the red plating a tiny bit but still holding Orion firmly in place.

“Slave? Pit, no. You are my mate, little one, I told you. Can I have your designation?”

“B-but you kidnapped me! And now you want to… rape me too???”

An offended look came to the smoldering red optics and Orion shied away from him. Or, well, he tried to. With little success.

“I kidnapped you to be my mate.” – he explained like it was… normal. Perhaps, Orion wondered for a wild klik, for him it was… he had no idea how the nomads went about acquiring a mate – “And I’ll make it good for you.”

“But I don’t want you!”

“In time you will. You will learn your place and I’ll help you adjust.”

He had to be crazy, Orion decided. What sort of a mech ignored anything about the lack of consent from their supposed _mate_ , but still cared about their satisfaction? He was going about it completely backwards. But the strong grip on his plating was a compelling reason to listen to him. Maybe he could sway the warrior’s processor, make him stop with this claiming nonsense and… Orion had no idea what he could hope for. But he lifted his servos, trying to placate – and stop - the other mech.

“Could you please… just stop for a little while? I don’t understand you.”

“What is it you didn’t get?”

The tone remained forceful with its undercurrent of lust, but the servo grudgingly left his shoulder. Orion scurried back to where he felt the tent’s light wall behind him. No safety by any measure, but better than under the warrior… Megatron’s servo. He tried to collect his tumbling thoughts and fleeing bravery. 

“Let’s start it at the beginning? My designation is Orion. Orion Pax. And I don’t know what you mean by kidnapping me as your… mate? Is it how nomads court or what?”

Megatron sat in front of him, far too close for Orion’s comfort, since he still towered over him by a significant amount, but for now at least he kept his servos to himself. He nodded his helm to the side a little, indicating confusion.

“Court? We don’t… court. We kidnap the mechs who are to be our mates.”

“B-but… what about their wish? What if they don’t want to be kidnapped?”

Orion grimaced. The very meaning of kidnapping sounded like ignoring what the… victim wanted and Megatron’s answer just reinforced that for him. It was as far from the concept of _mate_ as he could imagine it.

“They can fight.” – Megatron shrugged, like it was obvious – “Obviously, I can’t take a mech who indicates his disagreement forcefully enough to fight me off. Their family can help too if they so decide. But once he is in my tent… he is my mate.”

Orion had a sinking feeling in his tanks. If it was true… then he had no chance of getting out of this tent unscathed.

“We… we don’t do this. We don’t kidnap mechs to be mates… and I… I don’t want to be your mate, never wanted to...”

“Well, you already are. I’m not surprised city-dwellers do it differently… but it’s no concern any more. We’re mates and it can’t be changed now.”

The fire was back in those red optics and Orion felt the conversation was drawing to an end. He swallowed heavily, trying to think of anything that would help him now.

“Please… don’t do this… I… we barely know each other. It’s… it’s not right…”

“Obviously, we don’t know each other, since you are from the city. But I’ll teach you the ways of the tribe… and we will know each other soon. Intimately...”

The large, intimidating mech… actually purred. It was slightly more frightening than his roar in Orion’s present frame of processor.

“Nnno… please… could you just… wait a bit?”

Megatron scooted closer again, far too close and Orion suddenly felt the heat pouring from the silvery armor and the mech’s EM field practically scorching him with its flaming lust. There was little chance he would wait any time now.

“Why should I?”

The words were purred into his audials, the deep, dark vibrations shooting down like lightning from his sensitive audial fins to his sensor-net. Orion shook under the onslaught of unfamiliar sensations, trying still to think his way out of this. But those dangerous servos were back on his plating tugging, pulling and pushing him until he was on his back and Megatron straddled his legs, his frame like a mountain over him in the semi-darkness of the tent. The weight was holding him down, but Megatron, as promised was careful not to lean on him fully. Orion was sure he couldn’t take the warrior’s full weight without being squashed by it.

“Please… I’ve… never… done this…”

Megatron paused for a klik, pondering, almost visibly trying to throttle back his arousal for a coherent answer, looking very surprised by the admission.

“That’s strange… but then, I’ll be careful anyhow. Don’t worry, little one… I’ll make it good for you.”

Orion rather doubted it, considering the size difference and his complete lack of enthusiasm for the inevitably coming interface. And Megatron. Not that the huge warrior looked bad, no. In fact, if he had time and opportunity to appraise the large nomad mech, he might eventually find him… appealing? No. That had to be a faulty thought.

“You think too much. Feel instead.”

He couldn’t help that the touches of those sharp, dangerous claws were associated less with arousal than danger! He must have said that out loud, because the claws withdrew a little and Megatron actually answered to him, the frown clear in his tone.

“I promised I won’t harm you.”

Megatron’s voice rumbled a touch displeased through him, making Orion shiver with chaotic sensations, with fear leading among them.

“Why should I trust you? You kidnapped me, you’ve already harmed me and so far ignored my protests!”

“I told you. You’re my **mate** now. I could never hurt you… the whole tribe would scorn me if I abused my mate. Pit, I might even be cast out for doing so.”

It was a tiny bit of relief for Orion, especially with the honest shock in Megatron’s tone. It wasn’t enough for him to be calm, but the debilitating fear he felt dissipated a little. At least the warrior wouldn’t hurt him… intentionally. 

“I’d… still like if we could just… ummm… waited a little! Please!”

He had to yelp his last words, because Megatron’s claws were back and dangerously adept at finding his most sensitive spots. 

“Stop begging. It doesn’t become of you. I have to claim you and bond you before I can let you go freely around.”

“Bond too? BOND???”

Orion started to struggle anew at that. It was… it was impossible. He didn’t want to bond with the nomad warrior! He didn’t want to interface either, but to bond with a complete stranger on their first joor??? But his struggles were all in vain. Megatron’s servo easily restrained his smaller ones over his helm and he continued to molest Orion’s frame with his other and a frighteningly sharp set of denta. 

“N-no… please… mmmfff… don’t…”

And then Megatron’s lips found his and those sharp fangs nipped at his lipplates, glossa licking soothingly the small cuts. Orion’s pleas were muffled by the glossa sliding into his mouth and sudden, queer sensations assaulting his processor. The glossa mapped his oral cavity thoroughly, its hot, aggressive slide a complete surprise and it took Orion breems before he realized that it was… that it felt… good? Yes, good. The unmovable, but not suffocating weight over him, the claws plucking his transformation seams and exposed wires, the lustful, heavy field suffusing his own, the hot air that swooshed out from vents over him… and the glossa that excited sensors he never thought he had. 

Orion realized that his own vents were open too, straining to dispel heat from his frame. When the glossa left his mouth, he didn’t protest again, but moaned low, immediately embarrassed by the sound. But the warrior just chuckled again and his glossa swirled around his audial fins, making him groan again and feel the sensation shot down straight to his tank. It was oh-so-good that Orion could loose himself in the pleasure he never felt before. 

But a little corner of his processor still protested and insisted that it was all wrong. When a large, thick thigh pressed between his slim legs, pushing them apart, that feeling strengthened again. No… he shouldn’t just… let Megatron do whatever he wanted, just because he could do it… pleasurably! But his weak squirming had absolutely no effect on Megatron, who methodically continued to attack his frame where it felt the most… arousing and distracting. The nomad mech was determined to derail his thoughts and protests in the most pleasurable ways… and he was so very good at it…

“Don’t try to hit me…” – the warning was grumbled straight into his audial – “I might react excessively if you do so. I try to be gentle, but my control might slip in the heat of the interface is so provoked.”

The warrior freed Orion’s servos to lift himself slightly and slid his claws down the red-blue frame. Orion’s first instinct was actually to try and hit him, but the barely veiled threat unnerved him greatly. The promise of not harming him was a thin one anyhow and he didn’t want to anger the mech who could tear him apart with little effort. Whimpering a little as the large servos continued to fondle him, Orion stayed as still as he could with pleasurable little zings coursing through him. Hitting the warrior was useless, he got it, but Pit if he was going to reciprocate the touches!

Apparently Megatron didn’t expect him to play an active role in this… farce. The servos slid lower and lower until he started to rub on his interface panel, while those claws Orion was still afraid of a bit plucked the wires where his thigh joined the hip and the spreading of his legs made the seam gape open. Heat poled under the panel and Orion squirmed again in pleasure mixed with lingering discomfort. But the pleasure swamping his senses was fast swallowing the protests he still had. 

Heat rose under his interface panel and he felt his valve start to lubricate, clenching slightly in reflexive movements. It made him blush, but fortunately Megatron didn’t see it in the darkness – and with his servos and now his mouthplates occupied fully with Orion’s rapidly heating panel! He couldn’t have kept it closed any more, not after that large glossa’s sinful strokes that were liquid fire! Another moan broke free of his lipplates and Orion’s protests melted away somewhere in the heat of pleasure as careful, gentle digits spread his valve lips and the first droplet of lubricant slid out.

Megatron seemed to appreciate the sign of his arousal and his digits – Orion tried not to think of them as claws, because that mental image still made him nervous – spread the lubricant around, finding the outer nub easily and rubbing it between two tips… Orion shouted as pleasure far more intense than anything he had felt so far spread like wildfire from the seemingly insignificant place. His hips bucked up, or tried to as the weight over him was nigh immovable and more lubricant oozed out from his valve. His spike also tried to pressurize and apparently the warrior didn’t mind it either, if the deft touches on the rising slim shaft were any indication. 

By the time the first digit slid into his valve, Orion has well and truly given up his protests. It was useless to try and resist the onslaught of pleasurable sensations Megatron lavished on his frame. The digit slid into him oh-so-nicely, firing up sensors and making calipers contract and relax for the first time in his function. It was… great and now he wanted more. He wanted more of the same pleasure, more of the stretching, the filling… 

… and Megatron complied. The single digit left, only to return with another, filling his valve and stretching it for even more to come. His moans were continuous now, servos gripping the mesh under him, helm thrown back and mouth wide open to swallow air to cool his overheated frame… sparks of charge jumped from plate to plate, their little pinpricks of pain-pleasure a welcome relief in the molten heat pooling in his valve. The digits moved, pumping, scissoring, stretching him gently as promised. The third one joined its mates and Orion dared to hope in his daze that despite his fears of the size difference, they might interface without – too much – pain. 

“I don’t expect you to… uhmmmm… do much, but you might want to… to touch me first?”

Orion remembered to open his optics and stared at Megatron. What was he saying…? Then his gaze slid lower and some of his fear returned – along with an embarrassment the nomad probably wouldn’t understand. The young Iaconian has never seen another’s spike before and Megatron’s was… well, intimidating. The size itself, obviously. But also the heavy ridges and bumps on it, that would feel… Orion had no idea. But he lifted one hesitant servo and with the silent encouragement from Megatron he touched, then stroked the straining, silvery shaft. 

It was… hot and slightly damp with the head beading its own lubricant… and much harder, rougher in surface than Orion ever imagined it to be. More like a weapon than anything he could associate with pleasure. But it was going to be inside him soon… the thought was at once frightening and exciting. With boldening movements and an encouraging groan from the warrior, he slid his servo from top to the base, unknowingly, but instinctly spreading the lubricant over the hard, twitching shaft. 

He nearly squeaked in surprise as Megatron moved up again and took his mouth in a biting, harsh kiss, rubbing his frame on the smaller mech’s and his spike thrust into Orion’s grip. It was even harder now to his touch and slick with lubricant, sliding easily in his not too strong grip. Megatron groaned and stopped him, pulled his arms up again, holding them over his helm.

“That’s it…”

A huge servo lifted Orion’s slender hips, his legs falling apart even more, spreading him open nearly obscenely and the tip of that large spike nudged the valve lips. Orion tried to relax and not let fear consume him again. Even with all the preparation, it was going to be a very tight fit, he just knew. He had that huge, ridged shaft in his servo just kliks ago and felt its size. 

“Don’t worry… just relax… and enjoy.”

Easy for him to say… but Orion had no time to vocalize his opinion as the tip of the spike started to slowly press in… and suddenly the world narrowed down into his valve, into that stretch that hurt a little, but was also filling him so marvelously, so amazingly… Orion moaned and relaxed his inner cables as Megatron pushed in, stopping frequently to give him time to adjust. The young Iaconian felt the tight self-restraint in the warrior’s field, the fierce will to go slow, so he wouldn’t hurt his smaller mate and Orion appreciated that tightly wound control even as he could hardly focus anywhere else but to the huge spike impaling him.

Megatron panted over him, his grip also nearly painful, but they writhed together in the grip of pleasure-pain; one from the incredible stretch, the other from the unbelievable tightness surrounding him. When the tip of the shaft knocked into his ceiling node, after what seemed eons of slow advance, Orion shouted and shattered completely. His spike erupted with its own load of transfluid and he felt dazed, wrung out and worn… but still filled and stretched and… want of more. Megatron grunted at the tightening calipers, but waited Orion’s overload out with some measure of patience before he started to withdraw and slowly thrust back again into the slightly loosening valve.

Orion realized that he became incredibly loud. Moans, whimpers and grunts fell from his vocalizer, some begging for more – and he still felt vaguely embarrassed about those – some just incoherent shouts of pleasure which Megatron often swallowed from his lips between his grunting thrusts. Gone was the painful stretch, though some soreness remained, but each thrust now was an erupting volcano of pleasure that stoked his fire ever higher until he was shouting and panting for cold air, but wishing it would never end…

Megatron was slightly less cautious and restrained now, his thrusts jarring the smaller frame, pushing him up on the rumpled mesh covers, and pulling him back into the thrusts by gripping servos. He rammed his spike deep into Orion’s frame and pulled out nearly completely, to increase that oh-so-marvelous friction and stretch. He grunted and moaned as the calipers tightened erratically, as Orion dazedly tried to buck up to be closer than possible, to have that spike more, deeper and faster… until he felt Megatron’s frame all lock up, tensing as he rammed his shaft deep and strain there, roaring as he released his load of transfluid deep into Orion’s frame, filling him up to bursting…

And burst it did, spraying out beside the softening spike still in him, staining his thighs and the mesh covers they lay on. The weight over him sagged close too as the warrior struggled to remain online and not flatten him. Orion panted air in great gulps, the second overload sapping his reserves greatly, so he was glad that Megatron appeared to regain his processor and grunting heavily, pulled out of him and rolled to the side. The gush of transfluid and lubricant that followed him was embarrassing Orion again – it was all sticky, warm and… obscenely messy all over and under him, not to his liking at all. 

But Megatron was apparently unconcerned by the mess they made and Orion’s lingering soreness as well. Strong arms pulled Orion closer as he lay venting heavily in the semi-darkness and heat-filled, charged atmosphere of the tent. It was a move as protective as possessive and the young mech knew that he would have no chance of squirming out of that embrace, much less to make it to the entrance on legs he wasn’t sure they could bear him up… and then what? For all he knew they were in the middle of the nomad camp, filled with warriors purported to have extraordinarily sharp senses of hearing and sight. He would be caught in a klik and… who knew, maybe the one catching him would not be as... careful as Megatron. 

No, he would have to learn more about the nomads first, find out their habits, learn their ways, make them trust him a bit to move around freely… then and only then he could think of an escape. Orion succumbed to his tiredness and rapidly emptying tank and stopped thinking, sank into recharge instead.


	3. The Mate

Megatron onlined from a shallow recharge with a frame closer to his than ever since he left his Sire’s tent and his siblings behind. His newly settling protocols calmed his awakening reflexes and told his processor that it was _mate_ not danger, that he could remain near the other mech safely… though the smaller frame felt stiff within his embrace and even his offline field flowed with unease, a little pain and… fear still. Yes, he remembered now. The Iaconian whom he took as war bride, clamed as his mate and was now recharging uneasily in his arms. 

He was such a pretty little thing, smaller than most mates in the tribe, with so bright and cheerful colouring… Galvatron will grumble about worthless ornaments for his tent and question the Iaconian’s ability to carry his sparklings, but Megatron rather thought that his always dissatisfied Sire could stuff his grumblings to his gearbox and cough dust. He saw the Iaconian stand up to him even half terrified out of his processor and the younger mech took his spike last joor proving he was a worthy mate for a Decepticon warrior… as the sticky mess they were lying in proved it.

Megatron picked up a soft mesh cloth and methodically started to wipe the drying fluids away from the frame of the Iaconian… Orion Pax, he remembered the designation, sounding very much a city-name, but fitting the young mech all the same; he was careful not to wake him up yet. The little one was completely out after two hard overloads and feeling nothing as Megatron maneuvered him on the covers, deftly pulling out the dirtied one from under him. It took a few more cloths and some solvent to make him presentable – not that he would leave Megatron’s shelter any time soon, not if he could help it. The possessive codes sang strong in his system, urging him to keep his mate close, safely away from the rest of the tribe until he was properly not only claimed but bonded too and no mech could lay a claim on him.

Though bonding would come a bit later, when they were both ready. Claiming a mate was all fine straight away, but experience taught the nomads that bonds only worked if both parties put at least some willingness in it. Megatron had no doubts that the young mech in his arms would protest to a bonding very strongly yet – it was better to work on him first, soften him up and make him more agreeing. It shouldn’t take long anyhow.

Megatron parted the slim thighs again, careful digits checking his mate’s tiny valve for any damage – much as he though he was careful enough, it never hurt to make sure. The little mech was frightened enough of him and his situation, the sudden change in his position and life, so there was no need to complicate his adjustment with injuries of the intimate kind. But the valve lips, though abraded a little were whole and his careful poking inward only released more of the lubricant-transfluid mix only, not spilt energon. He might feel sore when he onlined, but no permanents harm was done…

“Not… not so soon, not again!”

The yelp surprised Megatron and he withdrew his digits from the small valve, glancing on the Iaconian. He onlined much earlier than Megatron expected him, tired out as he had to be from his ordeals.

“Don’t worry, little one. I was just checking you over. No need to interface this soon again.”

Orion trembled a little and shifted away as soon as his servo left his valve, closing the panel fast and drew his thighs together. He was obviously not comfortable yet and Megatron didn’t blame him at all. Even mates from other nomadic tribes took time to adjust and get used to their position in their new mate’s tent and for a former city-bot, Orion would need to learn even more. 

“Which reminds me… you must be low on fuel, right?”

The small blue helm nodded hesitantly and the much stronger rumble from his tank betrayed that he truly had to be famished. Megatron stood and after some rummaging in it he drew out a relatively fresh carcass of a technodeer from the stasis box. The game was chosen carefully for its succulent, energon infused frame and relatively thin dermal layer, since Megatron seemed to recall faintly that the city dwellers probably didn’t habitually eat mechanimals.

He offered the carcass to the sitting and staring young mech, but the Iaconian made no move to accept the meal. Instead his expression contorted into a disgusted mask and he drew back as much as the tent allowed. Megatron was a little confused as to the reason for such a strong refusal. The technodeer, while not the most valued game, was ranked very high on the list of ‘things to pamper a mate with’ that he carefully compiled mentally in the last vorns.

“Are you… don’t you like it? I can give you… other things, like a cyberfish? Turbofowl eggs?”

He hoped the young Iaconian didn’t demand something extremely hard to get. Like sun-dried fire-ants or gelled charge-snails for example. While the nomads had knowledge of such food and occasionally traded them for celebrations, they did not have the technique or equipment to make such items. They usually stayed with just-killed game, the fresher, the better. Megatron truly hoped that his new mate would not want such delicacies. 

“No! No thanks! I… am I supposed to… _eat_ this?”

Megatron lifted a heavy brow and stared a bit, formulating his answer.

“Umm… yes? What else could you do with food?”

“I don’t know! I never… consumed any such thing!”

The little mech looked absolutely lost with a disgusted-frightened expression on his pretty faceplates and Megatron thought he understood the reluctance.

“But I thought… never mind. You drank energon only from wells?”

Orion nodded eagerly casting a queer look at the technodeer and shuddering.

“Filtered energon from wells or crystal plants. I never before… ate anything. Though… I heard of some who tried it…”

“We don’t have well-drawn energon when on the move. Only the mechanimals. But they have the same energon in them as the wells… or so our healer says.”

Orion looked forlorn at hearing that, and he still shuddered with distaste when he looked at the carcass in Megatron’s servo. 

“Will you at least try it? It’s… it is considered tasty besides providing fuel.”

“Are you sure there is no real fuel I could _drink_ …?”

But Megatron shook his helm firmly. He might be able to trade something for a cube of fuel with somemech from the tribe who kept such things and might even do so later occasionally; but his mate would have to learn to refuel by consuming what every other tribesmech ate. It was the way of life in the tribe. It was one thing to pamper a mate with luxuries and quite another to allow him to retain potentially dangerous habits. Liquid energon was rare and depending on it would be a liability.

“You have to try this. Here.” 

He tore off a bite-sized chunk from the deer, choosing the soft side of the mechanimal and offered it to the smaller mech. Orion lifted a servo hesitantly, but seemed still too disgusted by the softly oozing chunk to take it. Megatron’s own tank rumbled a little at the yummy piece, though he had sufficient reserves yet. But his patience started to grow thin at the Iaconian’s squeamishness. He thrust the bite towards Orion’s mouth, a growl warning the younger mech to behave. 

His faceplates absolutely miserable, Orion leaned forward and took the bite. He shuddered again on reflex, but his instincts recognized the fuel and he tried to swallow it. Whole. Megatron resisted an urge to sigh. He so didn’t expect that the Iaconian had to be taught like a sparkling to simply… eat.

“Silly mech… you have to chew it! Have you never… oh right, you haven’t.”

Orion’s denta started to move and hesitantly grind the chunk into swallowable pieces and releasing the pure fuel within. Another advantage of the technodeer - its energon tasted the most similar to well-drawn fuel. In a few kliks that fact seemed to drop into place for Orion and his next expression was comically startled. The chunks went down with other shudders after the fuel, but his tank could handle the tender pieces, Megatron was sure. He didn’t wait for Orion to express distaste again and offered another bite to him. Then another, another, a crispier one with more minerals, the softer ones with more fuel in it, until he fed about the quarter of the deer to the younger mech. 

“I… thank you… it is enough now.”

Orion stared at the fuel on his digits miserably – he took the last few pieces, obviously hating to be fed by servo and now he was stuck with the sticky mess on his plating. Megatron smirked a little and pointedly licked his own claws clean. The tribe didn’t waste solvent and cleaning cloths on energon that was clean fuel. It was one thing to clean up transfluid and quite another to lick one’s digits clean after a meal. Orion looked adorably embarrassed as he followed his example and listened Megatron explain the matter with a few sparse words. His faceplates were positively flaming as he surreptitiously checked his thighs for the earlier mess and found them clean.

“Umm… may I ask… what it entails to be… your mate, Megatron?”

“What does it mean in the city?”

“Well… I never paid thoughts to that yet… I’m too young to have a mate… or be one. But I guess it’s mainly for… sparklings. Mostly for… love…”

He looked sad as he told the last, expressive blue optics turning downwards, hiding from his gaze. Megatron lifted his helm with a claw under his jaw.

“There can be love still. We will have to live together and get to know each other… and you can learn to love me.”

“Love is usually… reciprocal…” – Orion mumbled back.

“I don’t really know what love is. But I was drawn to you the nanoklik I saw you there, among the other mechs. This, I know – I wouldn’t have chosen any of them for a mate. Only you… Orion.”

Startled blue optics were raised to meet his red, smoldering ones and for a nanoklik they connected on a level beyond explanations or belief. Then the moment broke and Orion drew away again…

“I don’t know… I still think it is wrong that you took me without… consent.”

“I made sure you enjoyed it. And you did.”

He truly didn’t understand the Iaconian’s problem. He overloaded. Twice! And enjoyed the whole thing – his field couldn’t have lied and neither could the moans, the pleasured shouts, the… what was he playing at now? 

“I… did.”

He voiced his agreement, like it was an undying shame instead of a natural thing.

“So…?”

“So I never wanted to be here!” 

Orion jumped to his pedes and with a violent jerk of his arm waved it around the tent.

“I never wanted to be your mate, to be kidnapped and taken and fed with disgusting…”

His voice crumpled along with his frame and he slid down on some mesh again. Megatron didn’t know how his touch would be taken, so he didn’t try to comfort him. He’s never felt comfortable with overly emotional mechs, Primus forbid crying ones. He felt out of his depth. Better let him get out of his grief verbally so Megatron might make sense of it.

“And you keep me here and it looks as if you never want me to allow out and expect me to just… adjust and accept it as the natural order of things?!? Well, surprise, it is not even remotely natural for me!”

“But you can learn them. And of course I will let you out of the tent. Eventually. When you don’t want to escape any klik. And I don’t expect you to adjust fast. You take as long as you want to. I understand how hard it is.”

“Do you, really? Have you ever needed to adjust forcibly to another lifestyle, to be a virtual prisoner of another mech?”

“Of course not! But I make an effort to understand you. If only you let me. And I will tell you as many times as needed until you believe me: you are not a prisoner. You are my mate and I’m yours.”

“Well, I don’t feel your mate, not yet!”

Megatron growled and this time there was real anger in the sound. Orion heard it too and his fear rose again, his smaller frame tensing and armor clamping tight to his protoform. But he didn’t back down, not in this.

“According to our customs, I have a say in becoming any mech’s mate! And you never asked me!”

“You are in the Decepticon tribe now. Other traditions have no bearing here. And if you insist not being my mate, I have to consider you a liar. And I take liars very badly.”

“What? I never lied to you!”

“Your frame’s reactions indicated quite clearly that you accepted my claiming.”

Orion stared at him with open lipplates, wide, shining optics and nearly frozen in shock. 

“I see we have a lot of differences. But you can still adjust. I will help.”

He didn’t take the Iaconian’s frozen shock for agreement, Megatron knew better than that. But he was still optimistic. He had seen happy mates start out on far worse standing than this. All it required was a careful mixture of sternness and pampering. And of course lots of pleasurable dark orns. Those were the key ingredient. Not that he complained about it.


	4. The Tribe

The sturdy metal foil of the tents shone softly in the early lights of the orn, their bare sides like so many boulders squatting on the reddish ground. It was just a short-term, temporal camp, so the usual decorations, furniture and support structures were still in their packed-up state, making the place look stark and utilitarian. The real camp would not be erected until they found a good, defensible position that Galvatron was satisfied enough with to order the real, vorn-long camp to be built. For now, it was just the shelters thrown up quickly and a few mesh blankets in them to cover the bare ground inside.

Not the most ideal state of affairs to calm and win a city-bot as a mate, Megatron thought as he left his own tent and briskly strolled down way between the rows of shelters, but he had no choice. All the warriors were on high alert for the raids, the always necessary hunts for food and patrolling the area in case the city’s army decided to retaliate. Galvatron would be most unhappy with one of his best warriors taking his own sweet time for taming a mate under such conditions, but he would have to allow it to Megatron. It was his right. 

“Megs… Megs! I heard that you brought back… a bot?”

Slag. He so didn’t want Swindle to be the first to hear about his mate. Of course it was inevitable that somemech would see him return with a mech on his shoulder and to spread the news…

“Yes.” – he growled, the warning tone clear in his words – “He’s my mate now.”

“Wow! An Iaconian?”

“What else.”

“Huhh… never thought you’d choose a city-bot…”

Megatron cast a glance at the smaller Decepticon and his servo tightened at the smarmy tone, lipplates curling back a little, just shy of showing fangs. He hated Swindle. No, he despised the mech. Hardly a warrior, Swindle made it his business to know every tidbit, spread it and bet on it… making a hefty profit for himself in the process. Many other warriors hated him for it, but the mech didn’t appear to care.

“None of your concern.”

He gritted out finally and sped up his steps towards Galvatron’s tent. The sack of rusted bolts would not dare to follow him there. Only at times like these was he ever glad that the chieftain was his Sire, so he could enter his tent uninvited.

“But Megs…! Look, I have several items he might be interested in…!”

Swindle changed his pace to a brisk jog to keep up with him and Megatron felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to swat him. Another breem or so and he wouldn’t try to resist it, the smarmy mech just brought out the worst temper from him.

“I don’t need anything from you. The last time we traded you gave me a hollow support rod that caused my tent to collapse.”

“Well, it was hollow intentionally, to make it lighter.”

“Well, it broke the moment I put up the tent!”

“Ooops?”

“Ooops, indeed.” – Megatron finally bared his fangs –“Now leave me.”

Swindle must have had a little survival sense, because he veered away from Megatron’s increasingly dark tone and disappeared among the tents quickly. The warrior ex-vented the air noisily and tried to settle his nerves. Galvatron was unfortunately another mech who could fray his nerves and he should keep his calm for this conversation. He arrived to his Sire’s tent in a few steps but before he could enter, the flap opened and the chieftain stepped out to the early orn sunshine. They both stopped suddenly in their mvements, facing each other.

“Megatron.”

“Sire.”

Galvatron put up a surprised brow-plate at that – he rarely ever called the mech thus since leaving his tent a few vorns ago. But it signalled to him that he was going to talk as family, not as a simple tribe-member. Galvatron quickly regained his aloof air and nodded him to continue.

“I’ve brought back a mate last orn.”

“From the raid on the outpost.” – the frown was in Galvatron’s tone, if not on his brow.

“Yes.”

Megatron’s tone was a bit more defiant than necessary, warning his Sire not to criticize his choice. Galvatron’s answer was a narrow-opticked glare at him, the red beam nearly piercing his skin. Figuratively of course. Though Megatron wouldn’t put past his Sire to acquire a laser strong enough just to be able to do it literally. 

“A city-bot.”

“Yes.” – servos slowly tightening to fists.

“If you must.” – tone nonchalant, nearly smug with a touch of disdain.

“It’s my choice.”

Megatron gritted his denta together strong enough for the sound to be audible in the early orn silence. Galvatron just looked… smug and Megatron wanted to strangle him. Figuratively of course.

“It certainly is.”

Galvatron was not going to make it easy on him, making him ask for what was his due – time to be with his mate until he was ready. Megatron had know he would have to do it, but it didn’t make easier to… _ask_.

“I need time with him. He needs a lot of adjustment.”

“Would have been easier if you just choose a mech from the tribe.”

“But I didn’t.”

“No.”

“So?”

“So you’ll have to do it the hard way.”

Megatron refrained from pointing out that Galvatron’s own choice was just as much a city-bot as his – though Hardlight was from Tarn, a city in the South, he was almost as big as most of the tribe and a former member of the city’s army. Megatron’s Carrier had acclimated to the tribal life almost ridiculously easily. 

“I will, if I can stay with him for a few decaorns.”

“Very well. You are relived from fighting, unless an important raid is coming up.”

That was… almost easy. Megatron lifted a brow-plate in slight surprise. It wasn’t like his Sire not to make him beg more…

“I’m satisfied you finally do your _other_ duty to the tribe.”

Galvatron nodded to him, turned and left his creation stand there surprised. Megatron was confused. Did his Sire just tell him that he was glad to hear him getting a mate…? In a roundabout way of course… but he might have. Well. Wonders will never cease, Megatron thought surly and turned to return his tent. And his mate. 

He couldn’t go far, before his Carrier collided with him from behind, nearly bowling them both over, arms around him in an excited embrace.

“Megatron! I can’t believe it! I’m so happy for you! I thought you’d never find one! Tell me who he is, what he looks like… everything!”

“Carrier!” – he fought to restrain the mech’s enthusiasm but it wasn’t easy. A quick glance around showed him that many tents were now opening up, helms poking out to see the source of the loud voices so early. Slag! – “Calm down and I’ll tell everything!”

He would escape sooner if he did. Hardlight was… insistent when he put his processor to something and his creation’s first mate apparently qualified. He tried to describe Orion in as few words as he thought he could get away with before the whole tribe collected around them to listen.

“So small? Never thought you’d go for a smaller mech. And a data-clerk…?”

Megatron shrugged. Size was not really a factor as far as he was concerned and he wasn’t even sure what a data-clerk did. 

“He is… brave and good-looking and…” – he shrugged again. He really didn’t know what it was that made him choose the Iaconian and wasn’t going to discuss it with more and more mechs listening in. – “…and I have to get back to him before he onlines.”

“Of course, by all means! But leave your tent sometimes… no matter how hard it is.”

The wink was the worst, Megatron was sure. The knowing tone, the hard slap to his shoulder, those he could take. The quick shutter of his Carrier’s red optics… that was too much.

Megatron, who has never retreated from mech or battle… fled from his Carrier's racuous laughter.

“Good luck, Megatron!”

The shout reached him just before he could enter his tent. Megatron turned, waving back to Deadlock. The smaller warrior looked cheerful, obviously also having heard the news. Gossip seemed to spread faster in the tribe sometimes than Galvatron’s booming voice announcing war. Megatron nodded back to the swordsmech he respected and even liked somewhat. The mech literally clawed his way up from an abandoned stray they found starving in the desert to a respectable warrior of the tribe.

“I heard you’ll need it.”

“He’s all right. For a city-mech.”

“I didn’t expect you to choose a weak one. But they have strange habits.”

“That they do. But he’ll learn.”

“They all do. Still, change is hard. Don’t be so… harsh on him.”

Megatron glanced at the smaller mech surprised. Deadlock’s lipplates were tight, his field uneasy. 

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t take well if somemech tells you no in anything.”

“Why would he say no?”

Deadlock’s glance told him that he said something strange. Okay, so Orion has already said no… but it was just a temporary problem and he would adjust. 

“I wouldn’t harm him!”

“There’s harm and there’s harm… but it’s your mate, your tent.”

Megatron was glad to hear that – the way Deadlock phrased his answer it meant that he would respect his choice and so Megatron could let his mate meet and talk with the white mech, even though he still had no mate. 

“Right. Now, I need to see if he onlined.”

“Of course… see you later!”


	5. The Problems

Orion onlined to a pitch black tent and a surprisingly strange feeling of no other warm frame curling around his. It dismayed him a little how he missed it for a breem before refusing that thought. The huge warrior stayed in the shelter with him for several orns straight and took him many times during that. The young Iaconian blushed just to think about those highly memorable occasions – whatever his problems were with Megatron, the mech was a phenomenal lover even with such an unwilling partner as he always started out their interfaces. He wasn’t even sore in… private places any more and he came to learn more sensitive spots on his frame than he ever believed having. 

But he still didn’t want it, damnit! Megatron didn’t even pretend to ask his consent or what he thought about being kidnapped, imprisoned and taken repeatedly. Oh, he called Orion his mate, and kept insisting that by enjoying the interface he consented… but surely he wasn’t serious in that! Was he…? Orion pondered about it deeply and long, but in the end he couldn’t really imagine that mechs, Cybertronians too could think so differently as that. Consent had to be... verbal not just his frame enjoying the attention!

And that horrible food coupled with the fact he was feeding it to Orion from his servo like.. like he was a sparkling? Though he still shuddered at the feel of those torn metal parts oozing energon… it had been a living mechanimal, killed and torn to be… eaten! He missed the cool, sterile cubes with the filtered energon in them terribly. It was clean and pure and… so obviously not alive like the torn chunks of mechanimal flesh! His tank tightened a bit and the contents threatened to rise again. It took a mental effort to soothe his own queasiness, reminding himself that there was no other fuel in the nomad camp so he has to survive on… this. It helped a little to know that he was only doing it to survive. He certainly didn’t find any of those disgusting scraps… _‘tasty’_!

To help to forget the queasy thoughts Orion decided to use the opportunity of his captor’s absence to investigate the place. So far he barely dared to move while the huge warrior was with him, but now… Orion stood to examine the central light-source that flickered to life as he moved, if it could be convinced to give a little more light than the present, semi-dark flickers. To his surprise it wasn’t even a fixture… it was just a little cage with a few dozen glow-beetles in it. A few scraps of a mechanimal hide was put in there too, probably for the beetles to feed on. So no chance of more illumination from that.

The tent was sparse as he noticed the first time, with no furniture whatsoever. Of course he noticed the lack of a berth straight away, but there was no chairs, tables or anything else either. Only the mesh covers thrown to the ground and the box Megatron always picked their food from. Orion studiously avoided that box, as he was very far from comfortable with dead carcasses lying around. There was another box in one corner, a flattish one, nearly invisible among the rumpled meshes and this one, he tried to open. 

It had only manual latches and Orion blushed how long it took him to discover it – he kept trying to find a keypad to hack the code. But finally he wrestled open the heavy lock and lifted the lid that was almost as large as his frame. Well. If only he could lift one of these, he would have the means of harming Megatron. But of course the large blades were not something he could just hide behind his back and whip out to surprise the nomad warrior. Not when they were larger than his arm and definitely heavier than anything he could just swing around. Nevertheless, Orion played for a few kliks with the idea of swinging the sword around… what mech has never done so while younglings and reading heroic fiction in the secrecy of their berth-room during dark joors?

“You will need something smaller, I think.”

Orion whirled around, embarrassed at being caught rummaging among the warrior’s belongings. He let go the lid of the box and it slammed shut, the contents clanging together. Megatron’s left optic twitched at the sound, but he made no move, threatening or otherwise. He just… stood in the entrance, looking at him and studying.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean… I mean I was just…”

Well, he was snooping and Orion was never very good at prevarication. But Megatron just stared at him and didn’t appear to be angry…

“It is your tent now, too” – he shrugged, coming closer casually – “Though my weapons are mine, you are welcome to see them. In time you’ll get yours too.”

“I never had any weapons… I’m not from the warrior caste. I… don’t think I could actually use one.”

Megatron lifted a heavy brow-plate and looked skeptical.

“You have the instincts of a fighter. I’m sure you can learn.”

“How… how would you know it? You don’t know me! I’m just a data clerk with a little training in sciences!”

“You created a weapon out of your instrument in a few breems and used it against me. Those are not _data-clerk_ instincts.”

Megatron said his job’s name in a tone clearly telling that he had no idea what a data clerk did. Probably never even heard the expression. But what he was telling made Orion a little proud. He remembered those frightening, frantic breems between the first panicked shouts and Megatron tearing their building’s wall down. All the others were just… panicking and trying to hide. Not even Flashlight with his purported experience in hunting was any help. But he couldn’t help but try and find a way to defend them from the attack. Was it… was it bravery like the nomad warrior implied? Orion supposed he was right… after all he was the one fighting in his whole function, so he must know what it took to be a warrior.

He still wasn’t sure if he _wanted_ to be one though. It was all so… complicated and sudden. He was happy as a data-clerk and occasionally an assistant to scientific field-work to break the monotony. He didn’t dream of being in the army or doing something heroic… or be somemech’s mate either. Well, he apparently already was that one. And if learning to fight meant a little more freedom, a tiny chance to escape… then he might have to do it. 

“I suppose… I think I can learn to fight. If you would teach me…?”

Megatron looked pleased by his answer and more than happy to teach him wielding a sword, or any other weapon Orion found suitable for him. He found the warrior’s odd scowl and optic twitch a little strange as he said his next words, but he didn’t think it important. 

“That’s still for a little later. I talked with Galvatron… the tribe’s chieftain… and told him about you and your position. It is now known in the tribe that you are my mate.”

Orion grimaced a little at hearing the news. It probably meant that if he tried to snuck out, any mech from the tribe would catch him and bring him back. Megatron’s next words confirmed his fears…

“It would be the best for you to stay here for the next few decaorns.”

“Why, if I can’t escape?” – his tone turned bitter.

“I don’t think there is any who would try to claim you against me… but it can happen until we bond.”

Orion shuddered a little. It was bad enough to be… claimed by a nomad warrior, but to have two of them fighting over him and the winner still claim him… no, thank you, he wouldn’t want it. 

“Is there anything I can… do here? It is pretty boring just to sit here and stare at the walls. Do you have any datapads I can read?”

“Datapads… no. For now I am supposed to be your… entertainment.” 

Megatron was far too close again, moving so fast he might have been teleporting and his deep voice shuddering through him made Orion’s tank do little flip-flops. It confused him. He couldn’t deny the effect Megatron was having on him… but he couldn’t forget his own resistance to it either.

“I can stay with you as long as it takes to get you… settled. I’ll have to go out sometimes, but otherwise I’ll stay here and teach you of our ways. Among other things…”

But Orion, despite of the little zings of pleasure cursing through his sensor-net and making his valve clench at the deep, dark purr, was not in a mood for another interface. He tried to push Megatron away, but the warrior was just too strong for him and not interested in no-s. Orion squirmed, trying to get out of the embrace but Megatron growled darkly and his grip suddenly tightened. 

“I won’t be denied… you want it too, I can feel.”

“N-no!”

“Your frame says yes…”

Megatron held his wrists together and deftly turned him around, pushing his frame down to the mesh covers, face and arms down, aft in the air and the hot frame between his legs… and Orion started to struggle in earnest as he realized what was going to happen. It was… shameful to be taken from behind, it was how mechanimals did it, not mecha! 

“N-no, please don’t… not this way!”

“Have I ever failed to arouse you? You’ll enjoy it this time too.”

“No, it’s… it’s humiliating…”

Megatron even stopped his ministrations for a klik and surprise coloured his lust-filled field.

“Really? It is one of the most enjoyable positions.”

Servos rubbed on his valve cover and Orion lost the argument when it snapped open – Megatron has always took his frame’s answers more seriously than anything he tried to tell him aloud. A pleased rumble shook his plates and Orion dropped his helm onto his servos. Digits prepared him carefully like every time and soon he was hot and moaning like a well-trained whorebot, sinking ever deeper in his pleasure-tinted shame. Why was he reacting to the warrior this strongly? Why couldn’t he withstand the pleasure he was given? Was it really true that instinctly he had already accepted Megatron, like the warrior said so many times and only his processor insisting refusing him, on learned values?

“See? I told you… you’ll enjoy it.”

Megatron held his hips while pushing slowly into his valve and it was indeed divine. The angle was completely different and he hit sensors undiscovered so far even with all the interfaces they have done before. Orion shouted and for the first time it was Megatron’s designation coming out of his vocalizer, garbled a bit by pleasure, but still audible. The warrior gave a pleased grunt and thrust again, swamping his senses and processor with sheer, unadulterated bliss. It didn’t took long for Orion to reach his own overload – as usual, a few thrusts of that large spike filling and stretching him, the delicious friction from those ridges and bumps on the shaft and the molten heat pooling in his valve sent him over quickly – just to recover a little, have the charge grow anew while feeling like jelly in his legs and overload again as Megatron came, filling him up with transfluid, roaring his own release. 

Orion did slump down this time, his weak, shaking knee-joints unable to hold him upright with Megatron on top of him, leaning over with most his weight. The spike slid out in a strange angle as he did, making him yelp and curl up with his processor still dazed from the overloads. Megatron grunted and his tone held concern – though he had to be as hazy from his overload as Orion was.

“Are you… hurt?”

It was rather just his pride, but Orion didn’t answer him. He curled up, pulling his wrists to his chest plates and his weak, jelly-like legs up, curling into himself, trying to shut the world out. He felt exhausted, humiliated and ashamed for enjoying the whole thing – and Megatron could eat his concern for all he cared.

“Orion… tell me, are you hurt?”

Servos patted him over, even in intimate places and he twitched uneasily at the unwelcome touches. Megatron silently made him uncurl from the tight ball and inspected him for any damage. Orion let him do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t like he was asked for his opinion anyhow. 

“What’s the matter? Didn’t… did you not like it?”

“You don’t care what I say!”

“I care that you’re upset.”

“I’m upset, because you take me and humiliate me and… and you always just say that I’ll get used to it! Well, I don’t!”

“If you don’t like this position… we can try others.”

Orion sighed, his anger slowly dissolving in exhaustion and hopelessness. Megatron… just didn’t get his problem. It appeared that he truly didn’t understand what Orion was complaining about. He felt like truly… caring, but his own way, a rough and different way, the way he learned in his nomadic life. He cared about different concepts than Orion. Were he a sociologist, Orion would have a field day in learning how and why their customs and traditions differed, how their society fit together with such rules… but he had no such training and had to learn to fit in the hardest way – by necessity. 

“It doesn’t matter…” – he murmured, drowsy and exhausted – “you decide it… like always…”


	6. The Help

Megatron was secretly worried. He didn’t show it of course, but Orion behaved… strangely since last time. The small mech was lethargic and sad, not nearly as responsive as he used to be at first. He couldn’t understand how just one particular position could make him humiliated and crumble all the advances he managed to establish with the Iaconian so far. Orion didn’t even react to the pretty crystals he offered as gifts, even the small cube of energon he managed to trade with Breakdown’s mate, Knockout, brought little change. The red mech insisted on giving Orion the cube himself and they conversed some about matters that interested him very little. The red mech even hugged Orion before he left, an act that did almost as much for Orion’s mode as the cube… but he fell back into a melancholy straight after.

Finally one orn he left his mate offline in recharge in the tent and sought out the tribe’s advisor, Soundwave. All the warriors feared the telepath mech a little, but Megatron refused to feel fear from anything, be it a mech or something as mystic as reading his thoughts. As far as he was concerned it cut down the unnecessary talking and thus was a positive thing. The telepath’s advice was expensive though, but he felt it was worth the expense to win back his mate’s attention. 

“Orion Pax: feels ignored.”

“But I care for him!”

“Orion Pax feels: about wrong things.”

Megatron felt utterly confused by that statement and didn’t even try to hide it from the telepath. Soundwave elaborated.

“City-dwellers: verbal consent important.”

“But he is with the tribe now, not in the city!”

“Nevertheless: wants it respected.”

“You mean I shouldn’t take my own mate???”

“First: obtain consent. Courting: first step. Claiming: after.”

“But how do I obtain his consent now? He responds when I take him. Is it not enough?”

“City-dwellers: consider frame inferior to processor. Frame desires: ashamed about.”

Megatron gaped silently at the telepath. Sharing simple pleasures of the frame was commonplace in the tribe with youngsters encouraged to take part in it from the breem their protocols were developed enough. One could always find a few mechs fragging at any point of the orn at any part of the camp and join in with them if he so wished. To be ashamed of interfacing was a concept he had trouble to take in and lead to the uncomfortable thought that his job was even harder than he had believed it at first.

“But what do they do then to… make friends?”

“Socializing: talking, sharing experiences, learning…”

Ohh… that was something he could give Orion. It was rude to interrupt the telepath, but Megatron didn’t care at this point.

“He asked for datapads! Do you have any you’d be willing to give me… or lend? For a compensation, of course.”

Soundwave stared at him for a few kliks just to show his disapproval but then he answered, his monotone a bit more frosty than usual. 

“Tribal history: available for reading. Price: obtaining certain items at next raid.”

Megatron agreed easily. Soundwave’s interest in objects were well known to the whole tribe and if they found anything he or his younglings liked, it usually ended up in his tent anyhow. He also promised to handle the given datapads with extreme care – that Orion would do the same went without saying. He also tried to wrap his processor about the strange consent-idea of the city-dwellers, but it was harder than he thought.

“Advice: explain differences.”

Maybe that would work. Megatron thanked the telepath for the advice and put the datapads into his subspace, leaving the tent with a bit more optimism than before. 

Orion was dozing among the mesh covers when he came into his tent, but noticing his entrance and sitting up to watch him enter with those exotic blue optics. There was a little wariness in them, but he was more resigned than angry. He still scooted backwards though, when Megatron sat opposite to him, hugging his chassis with his arms. Megatron took a deep invent and plunged into what promised to be an extremely awkward conversation. 

“Orion… I had thought and asked advice about your… reluctance. Can we… talk about it now?”

“S-sure…” – He looked relieved about the prospect of talking and surprised a little – “I told you what I thought of… this whole thing.”

“Yes. Well. In the tribe… we do not speak about what you call… consent. We interface often and it’s rare not to take part in it… but if someone doesn’t want to for some reason, it is shown by acting, not words.”

Orion’s optics grew comically wide as Megatron tried to express what he’s never before put to words, what was natural for him all in his function. Frag, he’s never seen a mech who didn’t want to interface!

“So… you just… I don’t know, push away the other if you don’t want him to frag you?”

“No, we don’t fight… well, rarely over such a thing. But if one doesn’t want to be fragged he’s like… won’t open his panel. Won’t show arousal.”

“Ohhh…!” – Orion fell silent for a klik, but understanding quickly replaced the confusion in his optics - “So… that’s why you didn’t understand when I said no and stop? Because…”

“…because you acted like yes, but said no!”

“I see…” – and he really looked like he was finally getting it. It was for sure the strangest difference between the tribe and the city-dwellers, but Megatron was just glad that it was finally clearing up.

“But… I don’t know how… not to react when your touches feel… so good…”

Megatron firmly put the open admission of his advances being ‘enjoyable’ into the win category. He was on track finally.

“If it feels good, then why do you not want it?”

“I… I’m not sure.” – Orion’s little denta started to worry his lipplates and it took all Megatron’s self-control not to push the little mech onto his back and take him hard. Did he not know how… teasing he looked right then? Probably not. Megatron firmly ordered his spike to remain behind his panel. He won’t ruin the unexpected understanding with Orion for a little lust. Or a lot of it.

“Maybe I do want it… but I was taught that interfacing is… that it’s not something one does with… strangers or just… anymech!”

“You never interfaced with your friends?” – Megatron was shocked to learn this, despite Soundwave indicating that it might be the case. It was just… queer. Unnatural even.

“No! They are… they’re just friends!”

“So… who would you interface with? Only a bondmate?”

“Preferably yes! A… serious interest or a mate. I’m not… easy!”

Megatron mulled a bit over the last utterance, but he couldn’t make sense of it. Easy… in what way? Interfacing? What was the connection? What did it mean?

“Hmmmm… sounds quite… strange. But then… you are my mate.”

“But I still don’t know you! We talked less than we fragged!”

That appeared to be the last complaint and Megatron tried to apply the concepts to their case.

“So to interface….” – Megatron counted the points he learned on his digits – “… you need to be with your mate… you need to know more about me… you have to be in a mood… you have to say yes out loud… and it’ll be all right?”

It sounded incredibly complicated and unnecessary to him… but doable. If Orion would be happier for all this, then he would try.

“Ohh, and also be in a correct position.”

Interestingly, Orion looked to be as shocked by the conclusions as Megatron himself. But he was nodding, so it must have been summed up correctly.

“We do the getting to know part first… and only then the fragging one, well, even with consent issues aside. The position is not… that important, I think.”

“Well, I can’t change the past. But I can tell you about me. Is that… will that be… okay? I won’t take you again… until you feel you know me… enough.”

It was, to be honest a promise Megatron wasn’t sure, for the first time in his function that he could keep. Though he would certainly try…. but the little Iaconian was way too pretty, entirely frag-able and he gave all the proper reactions when touched. But he would try then not to touch him. His fellow warriors might think it strange to seek interfacing outside his tent when he just got his mate, but they wouldn’t ask why. Some ribbing he should expect, but others had their own problems when wooing a new mate.

Megatron remembered with a smirk to the time when Knockout chased Breakdown around the tents, saw spinning in his servo and shouting incoherently for the warrior not acquiring enough buffing cloths. The warrior even had to sleep in Megatron’s tent then for a few orns. That had been entertaining to watch. And elder warriors still snickered a lot when Megatron’s own Carrier was mentioned in connection with Galvatron’s previous tent, though he couldn’t quite get the full story with all the juicy details. So it wasn’t just him with problems at first and finally he had the remedy to it, just had to apply it.

So he talked with Orion. Told him how he grew up in his Sire’s tent and, how he contested and raced first with his siblings, then with the other younglings in the tribe. How he chafed under his Sire’s overbearing but erratic nature until he moved to his own tent. How they learned to fight with various weapons, how they were taught the various functions in the tribe, so they might find their calling. How he became a young warrior on his own right and built his own tent, the signal of adulthood, to be filled with prizes and trophies, taken in skirmishes. How he watched as all his friends kidnapped their mates and had younglings, while he couldn’t find the one he would choose. 

“Of course we haven’t been in a real big war since I became a full warrior, so I don’t have as much as some of the elder ones. But I have found you at last.”

Orion was a surprisingly good listener and genuinely interested in his experiences, his life, asking several questions to clarify points that baffled him. The wars, the raids saddened him, but he did try to understand Megatron’s answers.

“Why have you attacked Iacon?”

“We didn’t. We only cleared away the outposts around it.”

“But why? The city needs energon too!”

“The desert nourishes the mechanimals. We hunt them. If the cities took all the land for their crystal fields, all the tribes would starve.”

“But this way, Iacon, the city mechs will starve…”

“That’s their problem. They let the population grew too big for the city wells and now want to take away our food? Not happening.”

“That is a... very simplified version of it…”

“We don’t complicate our functioning with made-up problems. The tribe grows too, until our chieftain decides we are strong enough for a serious campaign. Then we attack another tribe, or sometimes a city and whether we win or loose, the problem is solved for a time.”

“That’s quite a barba… I mean straightforward solution.”

“I know that the city-dwellers call us barbarians. For them our methods are violent, uncouth and… debauched? We don’t like their ways either, so it’s all the same.”

“I… don’t think them barbaric… not any more. But I still think there’s a better solution than war, destroying each other…”

“It is the way of life. But you don’t have to bother with it now…”

“I can’t help but think… about them. My family is there… whom I guess I won’t see again.”

“We don’t go into cities. They kill us on sight… so, no.”

“And you kill any city-mech outside the walls, right?”

“Mostly yes. What could we do with prisoners?”

“Take them as mates…?”

Orion was joking, albeit with a strange grimace. Megatron answered with a wink, not nearly as forced as the attempted humor.

“We don’t take random mechs for mates. Only the worthy ones.” – he turned serious as he continued – “And I did feel something… it drew me to you from the klik I saw you.”

Orion looked surprised but somewhat warmed by the admission.

“I… appreciate that…”

Orion smiled a little despite of the topic and appeared more comfortable than ever since he was brought to the tent. It seemed Soundwave was right and a little talking, though definitely not Megatron’s strongest point, did help their situation and the Iaconian’s frame of processor. Now for a little more time, a present he should appreciate… and Megatron should have his mate once more soon.

“If I am to not touch you… I brought you something to spend the time with.”

“Ohh?”

“These datapads contain the tribe’s history. They are precious, and only yours for reading, but… I think you will like them.”

The young mech was speechless as Megatron slid closer the box of datapads he got from Soundwave. 

“Thank you!” – he picked them up nearly reverently, his field spreading with open joy as he started reading the first one.

Megatron nodded a bit bemused and made a mental note of picking up any stray datapads from any future raids. If only he had known before how happy they made Orion…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to avoid the word 'wizard' as Soundwave's role in the tribe. The tribal/nomad trope would automatically put this into mind, but there is no magic and therefore no wizards in this AU - and the Healer's role is definitely not Soundwave's. So I stayed with the - somewhat lame - Advisor position for him. He is Galvatron's right-hand mech, who gives advice in strategies as well as tribal matters, like discipline, judging, etc. It is logical that Megatron goes to him for advice, not to a friend, because of the role as well as his telepathy which can discern Orion's motives the best.


	7. The Search

The still-smoking ruins looked awful to Ultra Magnus as they approached the former outpost and his anxiety over Orion just grew with the sight. The fields were all ruined, the delicate crystals broken, trampled into the ground and darkened – there would be no energon from here and the prices would go up again… and the buildings that made up the outpost weren’t even visible or identifiable as such. Most were torn down completely, only a few half-melted half-crumbling walls were still standing among the heaps of rubble and most things were blackened, melted from fire and weapons’ discharges. The interiors could hardly be told apart from the walls and he despaired of finding any frames within the destruction. 

When the first news of the nomad raids came with survivors from the mines, Ultra Magnus was the first to volunteer for search and rescue – his earlier training as an army officer had come handy, even if he was too old for actual service. As soon as the area was deemed safe, that the barbarians left, his little team was leaving the city gates and on course for the little outpost where Orion was supposed to be – and which has sent no comm, no news and no survivors back to the city.

The other one at the mines fared little better, but at least there were some injured but still functioning survivors who got back to Iacon and told the fate of the others; a grim fate perhaps, but at least the deactivated could be mourned and the recovered frames put to rest. Ultra Magnus had no such luck – he was left to wonder about Orion’s fate until his frame was found one way or other. He wasn’t sure whether to hope for finding that red-blue frame or have hope while it wasn’t recovered… He waded through the rubble with grim thoughts and little hope, doing his duty.

“Look, there’s a small heat source there… in the corner.”

Trailbreaker pointed with his scanner into a mound of rubble overhung by a precariously leaning piece of the roof. It looked ready to come crashing down any klik and Ultra Magnus observed the structure carefully to see if it could be braced while they had to dig under it. They quickly braced the overhang with a few support beams welded to it and started to remove the metallic plates from underneath, cutting and tearing it as was necessary, along the less identifiable rubble. It was one of the scientific buildings and Ultra Magnus knew that Orion was supposed to be in one of these during his shifts.

Some of the rubble was looking like furniture too, broken desks, half-melted chairs and even an exploded monitor wedged among the smaller pieces. Underneath though, it looked like that the bigger pieces fell together and formed a smallish cave, a pocket of sheltered air and the big mech’s invents became faster. If a heat source they detected was a mech, he might have survived in there… _please Primus, be it Orion, please_ … he doubled his efforts of removing the larger pieces carefully and clearing away the rubble.

There was a mech underneath and for a klik he felt a surge of hot joy… the torso was dust-covered, but its colors were distinctly red and blue. They cautiously started to tug him out when it was deemed to be safe and Ultra Magnus groaned softly as more of him became visible. Orion’s friend, Dion had the same colouring as him and even a similar shape… and it was him they had found, alive but injured and definitely offline now with serious damage, so he couldn’t even ask… but if they were together as usual, then Orion had to be somewhere close too.

After half an orn of continuous digging, he had to admit that they found very little else than Dion. The whole outpost was ruined, and still, they hardly even found a few pieces of armor from the number of mechs supposed to be here, both scientists and farmers. Ultra Magnus frowned. It was highly unlikely that the attacking nomads destroyed every frame so completely that nothing remained. One or two missing, he could understand. All of them gone without any remains… no, it was strange. It certainly wasn’t like what they found at the mines.

“Ultra… come. We can’t do anything else now but we cannot stay out here for the dark cycle.”

“I cannot help but wonder about one thing, Hound. Where did all the frames go?”

The dark green mech looked back to him with sad optics. He was the most knowledgeable among them about the ways of the desert, since he was studying the mechanimals and their behaviour for a living, strange as that occupation was for most of the city-bots. But it was a useful knowledge here and now. He wasn’t a close friend, but Ultra Magnus knew him since they have met first and talked a few times.

“We can’t determine it now. They might be all… destroyed…”

“No… no! I can’t believe that. You know it’s nearly impossible!”

“It’s been three orns. Anything could have happened. When Dion onlines, he might be able to tell us…”

The green mech was suspiciously avoiding to look at him into the optics. Ultra Magnus frowned again.

“Hound… you know something. What is it?”

“Ultra Magnus… we are all tired. Let’s go back to the city and…”

“Tell me. Now.”

Hound exvented heavily and waved towards the rubble. He didn’t look happy to tell whatever he observed but he wasn’t going to lie outright either.

“I found… tracks. Paw-prints from… turbowolves.”

“And…?”

“Ultra, those predators… ummm… they feed on mechanimals… and other frames too if they get them.”

It took Ultra Magnus a few kliks to decipher what Hound was alluding to and when he did, the big mech nearly collapsed. _Orion was… he was… No!_ He stared at the uncomfortably grimacing Hound nearly frozen in grief and disbelief.

“I’m sorry. I mean I was not surprised we didn’t find any of the deactivated frames. But I didn’t want to say it so soon…”

“But how… in the mines they found some…?”

“We got there after only half an orn. Here the predators had three.”

“I can’t believe it… Orion was…?” – he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I’m sorry. But it takes incredible luck to survive a Decepticon attack and the turbowolves’ scouring afterwards. Even finding one survivor was a miracle I didn’t expect. He was covered with so much rubble they probably couldn’t get to him.”

“So he is… they all are… deactivated.”

“I think… yes. I can see no way he could have survived all this.”

“But we can never know for sure, right?”

“Ultra… I understand that you want to believe him alive… but it’s impossible. We would have found him here, like we did Dion. The nomads don’t leave survivors and the wolves don’t leave frames.”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily and slumped a little. His processor knew Hound was right, but his spark just didn’t want to believe that Orion… his bright, inquisitive creation’s young life ended under cruel fangs of some hungry mechanimals… it was just… to much. He held a scratched little piece of a blue plate in his servo, the only one they found that belonged to him, that he had left of his creation… and held back the misery.

The way back to Iacon was spent in uneasy silence.


	8. The Touch

Orion was mostly reading for the next few orns and Megatron sought out Battle Charger and Wildrider for a few rounds, to take at least the edge off his arousal – the young Iaconian looked even more delectable lying on his front, with his pedes in the air and a datapad in his servos commandeering his full attention. That pert, blue aft started to haunt Megatron even in his – increasingly wet – dreams. But the young mech’s mood was getting better all the time as he read and often asked Megatron to clarify a detail he didn’t understand, leading to long conversations in various topics. His frame language was far more normal now, even around Megatron, loosing the fear and confusion, with comfort and familiarity taking their place. 

He was even getting used to the idea of eating solid food, though occasionally he still stared at his portion like he was expecting it to grow legs and run away. Or maybe hoping that it was? No matter which, he actually started to notice the differences between tastes of mechanimals and developing a preference even. It was good, because Megatron’s own stash in the stasis box was not all that great and hunting for elusive technodeer occupied some time he didn’t have to covertly stare at a certain blue aft - without touching it. 

They got over the next hurdle too with minimal fuss – Orion was shocked to learn that the nomads had no wash-racks nor oil baths, save for some natural oil springs in a few places that they utilized at times; and so cleaning one’s frame was no more than a wipe-down with solvent-soaked cloths and a lot of mutual grooming. He didn’t understand the latter concept at first, until Megatron showed him, digging with the tip of his claws a few pebbles from seams that Orion didn’t even notice wedging in there.

“It is something we often do for each other.” – he shrugged, glad that he could touch the red-blue armor at least – “Makes great activity while talking and necessary too.”

“Don’t you have brushes? And waxes or polish?”

“I do have one can of polish, I have traded some time ago. They are quite expensive. We only use such things for great celebrations. Brushes no… claws work better.”

“Ahh… logical with no wash-racks… a dry brush must be worse than a careful clawtip.”

Orion was nodding and squirmed a little at his touch, though not uncomfortably. Megatron made sure he was extra careful with his sharp claws and his mate’s much smaller frame. 

“City-dwellers don’t… touch each other like this?”

“Umm, no. No grooming… or at least I never heard of it before… and for detailing we go to frame-shops for that.”

Megatron nearly stopped with his ministrations. That sounded… very strange. Shop… he had learned lately that meant exchange of credits for services or goods, a concept the tribe didn’t have at all. Even with other tribes it was just… bartering. 

“So you allow complete strangers to touch you in exchange of credits – but not your friends whom you trust, for free???”

Megatron was careful to keep his touches light and hoped that he could continue some more after the grooming was ready. Orion seemed to enjoy his seams picked clean and Megatron dared to advance to a light massage of his shoulders. His cables had to be tight and crimped from recharging on the ground…

“I know…” – Orion laughed lightly – “it does sound backwards, does it? Now that you point out the strangeness in the practice…”

Orion moaned a little as a particularly crimped cable was smoothed out and Megatron nearly pushed him down to the mesh right then. It took self-restraint he didn’t know he had to keep his servos and other parts to himself. Orion noticed nothing about his inner battle, the young mech’s back was turned towards him. Maybe it was for the best. He gathered his fleeting thoughts to answer him…

“It’s the way we’ve always done. I do it for my friends and they do it for me. Or between mates it’s even more… normal.”

Orion was silent for so long, Megatron started to worry he had fallen into another mood-swing again. But he was sitting in front of him quietly, letting the warrior massage his aching shoulders and back like he started out with when Megatron offered to show what he meant. He spoke up suddenly, twisting his helm to look up at Megatron.

“Umm… so am I supposed to… help you with this now?”

Megatron wanted nothing more than say yes and let his mate take care of him… in any way he was willing to. But he still had to be patient. Orion still had all these strange, backwards ideas of consent in his processor and those points he memorized haven’t been all met still… though weakening every orn.

“Only if you really wish to do so.” – it was entirely too hard to say that.

“I… think I can do that. I mean it is just… normal to give you what you have done to me… it’s just grooming, nothing else and… like a bargain, yes, something to share between… friends?”

He was babbling and covering up his nervousness with it. No matter… Megatron would take nervous agreement over angry refusal any orn. He hoped not to sound too eager as he answered. 

“Yes, it is… something like that.”

Orion turned around and wrung his servos together, a habit of him that Megatron found endearing. But then what did he not find endearing in the young Iaconian? He too turned and presented his back to the smaller mech… his mate and felt him kneel behind him to be able to reach everywhere on the larger frame, servo lightly touching, the point of contact flaming up in his sensory net.

“I… don’t have claws, I’m afraid.”

“But your digits are smaller. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

He wanted to groan at the first, cautious touches as those small, blue digits checked into seams and picked out the accumulated debris. Flaring his armor a bit more, those small, nimble digits could reach deeper, touch rarely exposed wires and in a scant breem Megatron started to think that it wasn’t after all a very good idea. He could only take so much teasing… Though his spike insisted on it being a marvelous one. 

“Am I doing something wrong?”

Megatron nearly moaned and his claws fisted into the covers in a heroic effort not to grab something else.

“No, no! In fact… what you’re doing is very… very good.”

The digits stopped and Orion’s field flared an embarrassed wave. Megatron froze, his own field suddenly aflame with lust.

“I’m… arousing you, right?”

It was extremely hard to collect his processor for an answer.

“It’s not… necessarily an arousing activity. But the way you do it… yes, very much so.”

Orion fell silent but he didn’t resume the grooming. Instead he shuffled forward until he could face with Megatron, expression very serious. 

“I… think I understand your customs better now. And… you to…”

He put one hesitant, light servo on Megatron’s thigh, lightly kneading the strong metal, the touch nearly electric between them. Megatron didn’t dare to move… much less hope. Though he really, really wanted to. He arched a questioning brow at Orion.

“I… think… I really like your touch. Umm. Even... that way.”

Megatron blinked his optics a few times. Was it a yes? These city-bots were really complicating their functioning if even a verbal consent had to be… solved like a puzzle? Wasn’t it easier to just get on with fragging if one agreed to do so? 

His doubts were kinda solved by Orion straddling his thighs with an expression he could only call daring. It was by Decepticon standards a very definite yes – and Orion meant it that way too. Megatron revved his engine and the smaller mech on top of him shuddered, pelvic plates rubbing oh-so-nicely on his plating. But he still wanted to be absolutely sure the last point was met.

“Are you sure…?”

“Umm… yes.”

He looked cute embarrassed and Megatron smirked back at him a bit bolder now, letting him take the lead. He wasn’t in any sort of a hurry now that it promised to be an enjoyable end of the orn. They can groom and massage each other any time, preferably between more pleasant activities. He lay back on the mesh covers, letting Orion lean over on top of him, unsure, but deft servos mapping out his armor, lipplates giving him shy, but enjoyable kisses. It was extremely pleasant all of a sudden and Megatron wasn’t complaining. He said the truth that each position was enjoyable in its own way, no matter who was on top. Though Orion did appear to be a valve mech by nature, so he complimented the warrior nicely, him having a strong, though not exclusive spike preference.

Very soon, considering his already strong arousal he couldn’t keep his straining spike behind his panel and let it extend between them. Orion slid back on his legs to be able to hold it with both servo, giving it a very thorough service with digits and mouthplates… Megatron groaned and had to hold himself back from grasping the Iaconian’s hips and impale him on his shaft straight away.

But that would have been unwise. Orion’s valve had to be prepared before taking his spike and the warrior took this duty very seriously… despite of the impatient sounds of his mate. Only when he was satisfied with the lubricant dripping and the valve loosening around his digits did he let the young mech do what he wanted again… and helped to lift him over his spike. Orion leaned down to prop himself on shaky servos and slowly pushed himself down on his length. It was… simply put… divine. Their moans echoed in the dark tent, Orion’s higher tone mingling with his deeper rumble. 

Orion threw back his helm and panted, for once no refusals or begging coming from him… only moans of pleasure as he worked himself down on the large spike. Megatron helped to keep him upright and tried not to dent the slim hips with his grip. He bucked up a little, just to show him where they were… and Orion started to rise again, slowly at first, but faster then, riding his spike on his own volition, enjoying it without shame for the first time. And Megatron couldn’t help but enjoy the Pit his youthful enthusiasm, his inexperienced, hesitant movements, the way his valve calipers clenched erratically.

They didn’t last long this time, not with pleasure encompassing them both. All too soon in Megatron’s opinion he felt Orion start to tremble and strain against him and his tempo became haphazard. He was nearly lost in bliss and the overload just gave him another level of haze… Megatron thrust up, into the tight, hot valve and roared his own release, shot his transfluid up and still had a small corner of his processor to catch and lower the limply toppling Orion onto his frame.


	9. The Truth

Orion sighed, still in half-recharge and burrowed closer to the warmth. As he slowly onlined, the warmth resolved itself into a big mound of a recharging frame beside him, a contentedly purring, deep engine and a slack arm holding him close. As his processor booted up fully, it all boiled down to a designation: Megatron and their amazing interface last orn. It was even more amazing that the warrior waited until he agreed to it too. Orion honestly didn’t expect him to honor that promise he had made a decaorn ago, not with those hungry optics he watched him at times and his beliefs about mates and interfacing. 

And the young mech was sure that not all times when Megatron suddenly disappeared from the tent he went to hunt with the tribe. For one thing he didn’t always bring something back… for another sometimes he came back with ozone and transfluid smells still faintly wafting from his frame and his optics burning a bit less intensely when he looked at Orion. It threatened to make him feel bad until he firmly told his processor to stuff it – he was so not going to feel guilty that Megatron had to find a frag elsewhere! 

Orion tried to peek out from the tent only once – he barely caught the sight of tents in every direction and the desert they were set within, before a mech, this one considerably smaller than Megatron, but with a disturbing, almost maniac light in his optics started to approach with an air than made Orion shudder, retreat and shut the tent flap urgently. The flimsy material would barely provide any safety, should a mech decide to come after him, but he doubted that any of the nomads would intentionally breach Megatron’s tent. This much he already knew about their lives – the tents were as much private as the homes in Iacon and not for their construction. That thought gave him a melancholic bout of his lost home and family which made him sad for the rest of the orn and led him wondering whether they were mourning him or still looking for him.

Several times he pondered about an escape, but it seemed an insurmountable task. Even leaving all the nomads around out of the equation, Orion only knew that they were somewhere in the desert, probably a considerable distance from Iacon. But he didn’t have the faintest idea which direction, he didn’t have a map and absolutely no skills of navigation or even of survival. If he took all the food he could carry in subspace and Megatron’s smallest blade to defend himself, he might wander the desolate plains for perhaps two decaorns before he either starved or got caught by a predator larger than his ability to defend himself. Finding his way to anywhere civilized within that time-frame had a vanishingly small chance.

He still actually considered the idea until one orn Megatron casually mentioned that during the actual hunt, lasting a joor they covered several dozen hics after the fast game… and if the measurements were the same as in the city, Orion knew he couldn’t go more than maybe a hic and a half in a joor. Two if he was really pushing it. Then he realized that those intricate, overlapping plates on Megatron’s back were actually flight surfaces and his estimated chances to escape dropped to a big, fat zero. He would be found not in two decaorns, but probably in two breems.

He harbored no hope for a rescue either and it was a depressing thought. Orion knew his creators would want to try and find him, whether deactivated or alive, but even he knew the city’s rules – the barbarians are stronger on the plains, going out there to meet them is just a roundabout way to suicide. There weren’t many bots in Iacon who could even just find their way outside the city walls. No, he was on his own and as good as lost for the city… and Orion didn’t for a nanoklik blame them for this. 

Megatron would never let him back to Iacon willingly either, not even after they bonded. There was simply no contact between the tribes and the cities, only war. The division was so deep, the mistrust and fear so strong, the differences so insurmountable, the goals so opposite that neither side has ever made any efforts to get closer, even just for understanding or knowledge. Which was sad. Even the occasional – and very rare as he learned – kidnappings from cities did nothing to bring closer city mechs to tribal nomads. 

The Decepticon tribe had only two other former city-mechs and one of them, an old mech from Protihex who had all but forgotten his origins, he was so long a tribesmech; the other, Megatron’s own Carrier was a former army-mech, a boisterous Tarnian, who took to the tribe’s traditions better than his own city’s rules. Neither expressed any wish to return to their former lives. It appeared that Megatron’s views were very much based on his experiences, telling him that kidnapped mechs learned to fit in easily in the tribe.

To think it all through didn’t take long to Orion, once his first blind panic subsided and he started to really listen what Megatron was telling him. It was strange, how, from the first orn really, he had trusted the warrior’s words – whatever failings he saw in the nomad mech, lying was not one of them. He was almost brutally honest in his wants, needs and ideas and after a while Orion found it almost refreshing. Frightening too, especially at first, but it meant that he could sort of… trust him. 

Loneliness was the hardest to bear. Megatron, even when he was in the tent with him, was anything but a company and that was when he wasn’t fragging him into the mesh blankets. To confide in him with his fears and confused feelings was a laughable idea, when he failed to understand even his clearly expressed problems with the situation. When Megatron let that slim, red mech into the tent, Orion for a little time thought he has kidnapped another bot to be his mate and for a few glorious kliks he entertained the idea of being let go. He certainly looked like a city-mech, even a noble one at that – if not for the nomads’ red optics.

Then, Knockout was introduced and his status as a nomad mech from another tribe and a warrior’s mate revealed and Orion squashed the irrational feeling of being cheated. The red mech talked far more than Megatron and though he was a born nomad mech too, he could relate to Orion’s situation much better than the dour warrior. The cube of clear, sweet energon was a pleasant surprise to sip through the conversation and he appreciated it even more when Knockout let him know just how rare it was to have on the move, as the nomads had no way of conserving the liquid fuel for long. 

But it wasn’t why he gave in to Megatron at last. He appreciated the consideration, the presents, the company… but what finally convinced him of Megatron’s seriousness was that he kept his promise. So far. Orion didn’t want to stretch the warrior’s self-restraint until it snapped and he would end up in the same situation than at first. He viewed Megatron’s efforts as courting – it was the only way he could consider him and not attempt to run into the desert and hope for a real predator to come – and slowly let himself be convinced. He could see clearly that the warrior had feelings for him, one-sided as they were, but still something.

He didn’t love Megatron. This, Orion was sure. Those awful first orns were far too close to just forget with a little consideration that should have been there from the beginning. Megatron was still a frightening, barbaric, no-nonsense nomad warrior that he had nearly nothing in common with. That interface was good… what good, it was phenomenal, meant only that Megatron had plenty of experience in the act and could arouse him whenever he wished it or not, making him forget the sheer unwantedness of it. 

No… very simply it was his life now. The tribe’s rules and traditions… they were strange and often frightening, but even he could see that they were firmly rooted in their lives, what the desert, their home demanded and taught. They were… logical if one wanted to survive in this harsh environment and Orion, ever pragmatic, has understood the necessity of learning them. And Megatron wasn’t so bad after all. He was still overbearing, demanding, harsh and dominant, mostly far too intense for Orion’s comfort… but he was also honest, in his own strange, different ways caring too and as time went by Orion discovered just how effective a teacher in survival subjects as well. 

No, it wasn’t love. It was getting used to an unwanted but unalterable situation and accepting the courting of a mech he never wanted as a mate, but with whom fate has seen fit to throw him together. An acceptance for now with hints of liking and a strong streak of pleasant fragging. And maybe, just maybe Megatron was right and love might come later.


	10. The Future

Megatron watched approvingly as his mate swirled the blade with a sinuous motion and deflected the swing from Deadlock. He lasted longer than most, which was a success against the swordsmech unbeatable in the tribe and famous everywhere among the others. Megatron taught Orion the basics, but the size difference made it a bit awkward for them to spar and so as soon as they have bonded, he arranged so that Deadlock could teach his mate further. He respected the swordsmech like few others in the tribe; they sparred only a few times and Megatron usually just won by fighting dirty, using all his advantages from size and greater reach to his flying ability.

To get settled and adjust, much less start to train with weapons took his mate much longer than Megatron had expected when he picked up the little Iaconian’s frame some vorns ago – Orion held onto his beliefs far longer and stronger than most kidnapped mates and for a long time Megatron knew that he wasn’t fully accepted, only tolerated. Outwardly, it showed very little. Megatron knew that the tribe has seen them much the same as all bonded couples.

It was a sentiment that worn away only very slowly over the vorns. Orion became a nomad mech, acclimated to the tribal life far faster than he took to the life of a warrior mate. He never… well, rarely ever objected any more to Megatron’s advances forcefully or loudly, but there was always that little something that the warrior couldn’t quite pin down, some sort of a… distance between them he couldn’t cross. Even in the hottest interface, watching the desert bloom in the second moon’s eerie light and during their best shared moments, it was just… there and went away very slowly.

Orion ooof-ed and went down heavily. Deadlock was not only a master swordsmech, but quite sly too, never hesitating to spice up sparring with unexpected moves that Orion kept calling unfair. The red and blue mech glared angrily up from his undignified, sprawled position on the dusty ground.

“That was foul!”

“Nothing is foul in a fight.”

Deadlock coldly countered, lazily kicking him back as Orion tried to stand. Megatron chuckled a little and got an angry glare as well, Orion showing him fangs… well, denta. His mate’s pretty visage just didn’t lend itself well to making angry faces… but his tone could do the job.

“Not you too!”

“You fight to win. Not to conform to rules made up by other mechs.”

“But we were sparring, not brawling?”

“Yes, but you should be ready for everything at all times.”

This time Deadlock let Orion stand and lift his sword, just to divest him of it again with a lightning quick move, the tip at the younger mech’s throat at the end of the move. Orion stared forlornly, servo empty again. He didn’t bother to lean down for the blade this time.

“You’re most vulnerable when your opponent lets you stand up. You think he is lenient or honorable, or whatever you want to call it. But he is not. He wants to win and kill you, maybe even just toy with you. Always be ready! Now, pick up that sword again.”

Megatron felt a bit sorry for his mate. Deadlock’s lessons were brutal… though necessary and he got to comfort Orion afterwards. He got better in that too over the vorns. Orion not only changed himself, but changed him too in ways Megatron felt slightly embarrassed about. Not that caring and showing affection was… wrong, no. He knew that. But he preferred to keep it in their tent, where no other tribesmech - and especially not his Carrier! - could observe it. 

Orion would never be one of the tribe’s warriors though. Not because he lacked skills, because he didn’t; but he hated fighting for real and absolutely went to pieces when he first had to kill a mech even just in self-defense. That was the last time Galvatron allowed his creation’s mate into a fighting party and for once Megatron didn’t argue with him. He was a liability there and because of him Megatron too. Some mechs just weren’t made to take a life and Orion was definitely one. Much as he enjoyed sparring and learning to handle weapons, it was like an exercise for him, to be used only for survival.

“No. Again. You left your side wide open.”

“I have one blade only!” – he pointed accusingly at Deadlock’s swords, though he never showed an aptitude for two-servoed fighting.

“Will that be your excuse when your tank is ruptured and you spill your internals to the ground?” – Deadlock retorted snarling.

“Uhh… right… again…” – his sigh was swallowed by the blades clanging again.

Megatron snickered again, but kept it behind his mate’s back. Deadlock flashed an amused glance to him while keeping Orion busy with his attack. Several onlookers weren’t so quiet in their amusement and Megatron felt his mate became increasingly agitated, less and less in a mood to concentrate on the lesson. The red and blue mech still hated to be watched while training, he still claimed to Megatron that he felt most stares ‘hungry’, like wanting to devour him. He knew it was the effect of the tribe’s red optics as opposed to the city-bots’ blue, but the theoretical knowledge helped little with that feeling. 

Megatron often told him that the tribe’s youngsters learned at least as much from watching others spar than from their own training and though Orion agreed with this fully, he pointed out that he had no problems the younglings watching anymech else, nor were the mechs in question bothered by it. It was only when they observed his blunders and his mistakes that got under his grill. 

“Should be enough for this orn.”

“Yeah he’s not learning any now. Useless…”

Deadlock was goading Orion, Megatron knew, but it didn’t help on the sudden, hot, protective anger that he felt suffusing his processor. His growl escaped his control and Deadlock glanced to him, gauging if he got too far with a protective mate…

And that was when Orion struck him, his sword swiftly cutting into the hip-seam, nicking an energon line. Deadlock grunted in pain-tinted surprise, while Orion looked… smug. Megatron’s booming laughter echoed into the sudden silence.

“Anything goes, ehh, Deadlock?”

The white warrior was good sport about it and nodded to Orion, saluting with one sword before sauntering away to treat the little wound. 

“Good work! You know how many has never scored a hit on him?”

“One less.” - Orion’s smile was triumphant and rightfully so – “But it was an accident… he looked away and left a tiny opening.”

“Orion… fighting is basically to protect yourself until your opponent makes a mistake – and exploit it.”

“Unless you’re so much stronger that the outcome is no question.”

“It’s never a sure thing. No warrior goes into battle that arrogantly. Even the strongest has to be cautious, because even the weakest can find an opportunity to wound him.”

But while he never became a warrior, Orion got to be a very good hunter and useful to the tribe in unexpected ways too. Because of him, many warriors learned at least a little reading, which Galvatron at first objected to loudly, calling it useless… but literacy meant they could pick some useful items on the raids, machines they had previously traded for with some Southern tribes, various tools that made life easier in the camp. Whereas before Megatron simply shot or trashed the boxes in the outposts’ warehouses, now he actually read the labels first if he had time and picked up what he thought useful. Many of the other warriors followed his example after seeing how he got hold of some tools hard to come by.

Their tent looked much more comfortable too these orns. Orion was adorably surprised when the tribe arrived to the place Galvatron declared to be suitable for a longer camp and the so far in storage furniture and decorative items got out from the baggage train. He really had believed at first that the nomads had no such things and lived in almost bare tents, recharging on the hard ground. Not that Megatron had a lot of items, basically just a berth and a slightly bigger crate with all the knick-knacks he collected through the vorns. But even just the presence of a berth caused Orion’s mood to improve considerably; and gave them more opportunities to interface on.

“Orion, come. I want to show you something.”

“Okay, just a klik…” 

The red and blue mech finished the paragraph he was reading, marked his place and looked up curiously. Megatron gestured to outside and Orion stood to move beside him.

“What is it?”

“Surprise. Come, it’s not far.”

They left the camp behind and waved to a hunting group coming in, laden with game. Orion knew there were a couple of small hillocks behind the camp, the way they were going, but didn’t remember anything interesting being there among them. They went into one of the glens and at the end Orion saw the hillside recently disturbed. Megatron unerringly ducked under a low overhang which half-hid an opening and drew him behind. His red optics had no trouble penetrating the deepening darkness of the cave, but he knew that Orion’s blue ones were much less effective in there. 

“Come, just a few steps…”

They rounded a corner and Orion started to see some diffuse, flickering light again. As his optics acclimated, he noticed with amazement that it came from swarms of glow-beetles nestled in the cave’s walls and ceiling like so many stellar constellations… it looked absolutely amazing.

“Down here.”

Megatron nudged him to take his glance from the beetles and look down.

“Ohh… wow!”

“I thought you’d like it.”

The oil-lake glistened darkly in the semi-darkness, the myriad of light-sources twinkling on its rippling surface as lazy bubbles made their way onto its surface. It wasn’t really a lake on second glance, more like a large puddle, but enough for a mech or two to get into it and sink in fully, like a bath. Orion squatted and cautiously dipped one servo into the oil. It felt divine.

“It’s warm!”

“Yeah. It’s warm as it bubbles to the surface, and cools as it flows away.”

He waved to the back part of the cave, where a little oil-stream disappeared, diving back underground.

“I discovered it yesterday, when I threw Battle Charger into a boulder and he broke it, opening up the entrance. I convinced him to shut up about it for now… so we are the first ones to try.”

“Thank you! It looks amazing!”

Without hesitation, Orion stepped across the edge and into the pool. He nearly lost his balance on the slippery inner surface, grasped and tugged Megatron with him, partly to share the experience, partly to have a solid support to lean on. He was laughing as the warm oil sensuously slithered around his thighs, tickling at the seams that he immediately flared out so the dark liquid could ooze under the plates and caress his protoform. He drew Megatron deeper until they could sit or rather slouch back half-sitting, half lying and the oil covered them up to the neck. 

Orion flared all his plating fully out for the oil to get in, immensely enjoying the treat he didn’t have for so long… Megatron was far more cautious and reserved. For the warrior, it was nearly unthinkable to relax and let up his guard outside his tent and he wasn’t longing for an oil-bath for vorns either, since it was a rare luxury for him, unlike a commonplace thing in the city. He enjoyed the rare caress of the warm oil on his often tense protoform too – it was just taking him more time to relax enough to let it under his plating, like Orion. Even then, he treated it more like a thorough cleaning rather than an indulgence. 

“Come on… you gotta like it too?”

“I enjoy the bath, yes. And I’m glad you like it too.”

“I love it…”

Orion sighed contentedly and sink down fully into the oil. His whole frame was just soaking in the warm oil making him melt like an energon jelly… when he came up again, forcibly blowing the oil from his vents, he caught Megatron staring at him strangely.

“What?”

A servo sneaking in under the oil and his plating was his answer. Megatron’s optics smoldered in the semi-darkness and lust permeated him through their bond.

“You’re insatiable!”

Orion laughed, batting away the servo playfully. He didn’t mean it seriously – though a little more quiet soak would have been nice - but Megatron scowled and pulled away as much as the little pool allowed it, his plating clamped close again. Frag. Though he said nothing, every line of the warrior signaled disappointed anger and the bond was completely closed. 

“Umm, okay, I didn’t mean…”

“It is fine. Enjoy your soak.”

Megatron rose suddenly, the dark oil churning in rivulets as it cascaded down his large frame. Shaking down the last droplets, he stepped out of the oil-pool and disappeared in the semi-darkness of the cave towards the entrance. Orion cursed inwardly. He was completely torn between enjoying the rare pleasure of the oil-bath a bit more and placate his mate… it wasn’t like he refused any interface since they bonded and he kinda felt bad for doing it now. Even if he really didn’t mean it that way. 

Orion sat in the slowly bubbling pool and stared at the swirling liquid morosely. Alone, eaten by guilt even its soft caress didn’t feel nearly as good. He ducked into the oil, trying to recapture the mood, the enjoyment of the rare luxury and blew his vents again as he rose…

…when a large frame suddenly landed on top of him, making him flail in the slippery surface, yelp in surprise, fall backwards and be held down forcefully. His attacker was pinning him down completely, pressing him into the oil, while his deep, throaty growl purred into his audials.

“And now we’ll play… we’ll play a barbaric warrior catching a naïve, innocent city-bot…”

Orion trembled, for a klik worried, almost frightened by the sudden attack – until he recognized the voice.

“Mega… ahhh!”

Megatron wasted no time derailing Orion’s thoughts, which mainly circled around the fact how little he could play that innocent city-bot any more. One servo was pinning Orion’s arms over his helm, the other already rubbing on his panel, while his glossa and fangs made sure his mouth was fully occupied as well. The oil splashed and swirled around them, its sensual touch making everything feel doubly as intense as usual. That had to be the reason why his panel was open so fast. Yeah, must be. Orion laughed a little inwardly, because out loud was impossible with Megatron’s glossa playing with his and his fangs probing his lipplates. Muffled moans were the most he was presently capable of, sounds that appeared to turn on Megatron even faster.

There was a digit testing his readiness but it disappeared almost immediately. The oil was everywhere, soaking in literally everywhere and Megatron realized it as fast as Orion himself… and his hot, stiff spike was pushed into his valve. It was nearly too much… Orion relaxed his inner cables, because Megatron was… forceful, dominant, nearly aggressive, rare as it was lately and the stretch was bordering on painful and threatening to step over it. Then he thrust in fully and Orion yelped as the burning pain momentarily overwhelmed the pleasure. Megatron stopped for a klik with the thrust, but not with his kiss and Orion forced himself to relax and spread his legs a bit more.

He bit back the intruding glossa and Megatron growled. It was a threatening sound, one Orion hasn’t heard directed at him for a long time. Megatron pulled out slower and thrust in again, forcefully, again bordering on pain and bit back. The oil splashed around them, its soft caress so strangely contrasting the slight burn and twinges of pain… but soothing them all the same, its silky warmth seeping into them both. That warmth was disappearing quickly as their frames heated up, friction and charge acting both as usual and a bit strange in the oil. But the pain was dissipating with the heat, though Megatron didn’t relent with his fast, strong, nearly punishing pace and Orion rolled into the thrusts as much as his shaky support allowed him to. 

Megatron rammed in so strongly, Orion nearly buckled under the onslaught of sensations… but it was oh-so-good again, he couldn’t have complained, even if he wanted to… which was the farthest thought from his processor right now.

“Y-yes…! More!”

“Insatiable, am I…?”

Megatron rose up a little, a huge shadow in the twinkling twilight of the cave, like a titan emerging from mythical seas… and he stopped thrusting. The flared tip of his spike remained just inside Orion’s valve solid but unmoving like the mountains themselves… while his calipers clenched on nothing and he peered up at the dark shadow over him. His servos were still held above his helm, the uneven rim of the pool a bit uncomfortably poking his back-plates, his lower half pinned down completely…

“Please… Megatron…?”

“I just remembered… I forgot to ask that… consent of yours.” 

“?!?!”

Orion’s optics spiraled open fully as he stared dumbfounded at his mate. He couldn’t be… serious? He was teasing. He had to be! He can’t leave him like this?

“Frag! Just… ahhh… frag me already!”

“Are you sure…?”

Orion wanted to hit him. Too bad he couldn’t. He tried to buck up, to rub his spike on Megatron’s, claw him, anything that would make his slagging mate continue what he’s started! But Megatron was, as usual, stronger and unyielding, grinning wickedly down at Orion in the dimness. That grin unnerved and encouraged him at the same time.

“Meg…atron… please… don’t stop!”

A deliberate twitch, exciting exactly one line of sensors at the valve rim that felt like hit by lightning in his oversensitized sensory net. Orion wanted to cry, shout, laugh and beg at once. His valve clenched and he choked out a last plea.

“Please…! Just… move!”

“Well then…”

He rammed straight back in and the dam in Orion broke. He shouted and overloaded, hard, so hard he fully reset right where he was, in a nanoklik. But it wasn’t over yet, not for Megatron. He continued to thrust forcefully and make his charge rise again, impossible as Orion thought, he was so sated and limp with pleasure, like never in his function. But he did. Soon he was moaning again as molten fire raged between his legs and a stiff spike pounded into him relentlessly. Even the oil around them bubbled and churned as their inner heat raised its temperature and the rhythmic movement sent splashes and fine mist everywhere in the cave. 

Grunts and incoherent shouts echoed in the small space, interspersed with splashes, smacks and other assorted noises of their violent interface. Orion croaked as his vocalizer simply reset on him in the middle of a shout, but he couldn’t care. It was just far too good, he was still blissed out, though of the pain-tinted kind, and he had no processor-power for measly things like a broken vocalizer. 

Megatron apparently hasn’t lost the use of his, if the roar of completion was any indication. Orion screamed inward as he felt the last thrust, the hot jet of transfluid and went over hard again. This time, he lost consciousness fully, though not before Megatron’s frame slumped on him, plunging them both back into the oil that welcomed their tired frames.

Then it was blackness, sheer, velvety, caressing and blessedly cool blackout.

-the end-


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue was not intended at first, but events in [Swords of Destiny (ch. 15)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3715183/chapters/8225266) compelled me to write a small closure for this story too.

Ultra Magnus sat in his tiny office, his datapads done for the shift and he was ready to go home. But the large mech didn’t move. His optics were on the window, from where, thanks to being near the top of the tall office building he could see over the city walls and far into the featureless desert. Few choose to watch the unchanging, desolate emptiness, even fewer thought about it as they went on with their everyorn lives. But for Ultra Magnus, the desert took away his only creation and since then, so many vorns ago, that empty view meant something different than for others. He came to learn the tiny nuances in the hue of the sky that foretold a dust storm, the smell of the wind before and after an acid storm, the slight change in the silhouette of distant hills when the seasons made their crystals grow or wither. He started to notice the tiny spots that were migrating mechanimals, the large patches of upturned ground as the burrowers moved, the soaring frames dotting the skies.

Occasionally larger frames appeared in the hills that hid better even than mechanimals and hunted them – the nomad tribes usually knew better than come close to the big, strong city and only harassed the outposts sometimes that were also barely visible with their planted fields and huddling shelters. Between two such he saw the beginning of the long line of stakes driven into the ground that marked the trade route to Altihex and through it to even more distant cities. Caravans were still rare, seldom more than one or two per vorn, but at least they had news of distant lands now, some little trading and the beginnings of some diplomacy with the other cities. Ultra Magnus shook his helm as he thought of the wildly differing habits and customs he has heard – some of them appeared downright incomprehensible.

He almost stood to leave the office when a small dot appeared in the hills, near one of the outposts. These vorns Iacon had official spotters who had nothing else to do but sit in the tall guard-towers and see if any nomads came close to the outposts, ready to alert them – but the big mech still stopped to see what the lone spot grew into. Nomads rarely came closer but mechanimals did sometimes – and then some of the braver nobles dared to leave the safety of the walls to hunt and later to boast with a strange pelt or a set of fangs made into decoration.

But this spot appeared to be moving with more determination, less hiding or meandering than mechanimals. It… or rather they, he corrected himself when the dot grew and split to two frames, approaching the city it appeared. Ultra Magnus saw the big, warning green flag on the guard-tower on that side already – the spotter there has also seen the possible danger. But nomads would be more careful, he thought, their forward scouts were nearly impossible to spot from this distance. It was the wrong direction or a caravan and too small to be one. But who would go in the desert alone… or in such a small group of two persons? So he stayed to watch more, a queer feeling he couldn’t identify compelling him to see the events through.

At the edge of the hills the mechs – for they were mechs it seemed - stopped. They were still no more than elongated dots in the distance, but one appeared to be larger – and it was that one who stayed in place while the smaller dot started to move forward on the plains, obviously towards the city. The guard raised the pink flag now and sounded the alert. A group of soldiers started to assemble just inside the gates and Ultra Magnus saw the mechs from the outpost stream out of their buildings and drive with their top speed towards the safety of the walls. The lone mech from the desert continued to draw closer more sedately, likely walking on pedes. Ultra Magnus found himself leaning out of the window, straining to see more details that failed to reveal themselves still.

The squadron was ordered to leave, the outpost-mechs allowed to enter but the big gates shut behind them all. The single mech stopped as he saw the group of soldiers and lifted thin, sticklike arms, showing them unarmed. Ultra Magnus still couldn’t quite make out the colours that the hazy air masked from his optics. The soldiers surrounded the mech and for awhile he could see nothing happening – but at least there wasn’t any fighting or shooting yet.

Then his comm went off.

“Ultra Magnus?”

“Yes?”

“Sir, we have somemech here, calling himself Orion and naming you as… kin. Do you…?”

But Ultra Magnus didn’t hear the rest of the question as a roar rose in his processor, threatening to overwhelm him. Orion…? ORION???

“Sir? Ultra Magnus, sir? Can you hear me…?”

“I…” – he had difficulties to speak – “I’ll be down there…”

Ultra Magnus honestly didn’t remember how he got out of the office, down the stairs, through the square and the maze of streets full of mechs till the gate – but it couldn’t have taken long, because the group was still outside and hardly any of them moved.

“Open it!” – he demanded from the guards milling about uncertainly. One mech could not be called an attack after all, whoever he was.

The gate opened with an audial-hurting screech but when it did Ultra Magnus could finally see the mech with colours and frame… and he fought not to die in shock. How was it possible…?

“Orion…?”

“Yes, it’s me, Sire!”

He didn’t care how many soldiers he pushed aside. Ultra Magnus only had optics for his long lost creation’s smiling face, the dust-covered, scarred, scratched but healthy frame, the happily twinkling blue optics…

“It’s me…”


End file.
